Journey to Destiny
by PSUbrat
Summary: ***WIP*** Set in the Resetverse...Feeling guilt and remorse for his actions towards Buffy, Spike rushes off to Africa in search of his soul...
1. Prologue The Journey Begins

**Author:**  PSUbrat  
**Rating:**  PG-13 Some language and violence  
**Disclaimer and spoiler warning:**  All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to...I'm just borrowing them for a while.  Also, the character of Aroghetto Baldassare is the creation of Ebony Silvers; I'm just borrowing him too.  This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset.  Some dialogue and scenes borrowed from "Seeing Red" written by Steven DeKnight, "Villains" by Marti Noxon and "Grave" written by David Fury.  
**Summary:**  Feeling guilt and remorse for trying to force himself on Buffy, Spike rushes off to Africa in search of his soul...  
**Timeframe:**  Immediately following Spike's scene with Clem in "Seeing Red"  
**Author's Note: **This story is a stand alone fic set in the Resetverse. It can be read without prior knowledge of The Reset Series. Please read and review! Thanks!  
  


**_Prologue – The Journey Begins  
  
_**

Spike sat on his motorcycle and looked down into the valley at the lights of Sunnydale.  Thoughts of what had happened at Buffy's house, specifically in the bathroom, plagued his mind.  Flashes of him begging her to love him and to let him love her, made him want to scream out into the night.  How could he have done that to her, to the woman he supposedly loved more than unlife itself?  Anger began to build in the pit of his stomach.  He was a vampire, damnit!  He shouldn't be feeling this way, struggling with...what exactly was it?  Guilt?  Now why should an evil, soulless thing such as himself, have feelings of guilt?  He was still evil and soulless, right?  Immediately he began an internal checklist.  Thirst for blood, check.  Fangs and bumps, check.  Feelings of joy and contentment at thoughts of chaos and mayhem, check.  So all that made him a monster; at least in theory, was still there.  Then why did he feel this way?

Returning his attention back to the lights of the town down below, he took one last drag off his cigarette and narrowed his eyes.  "Get nice and comfy, Slayer.  I'll be back.  And when I do...things are gonna change."  He had no idea of how they would change, but they _would_ definitely change.  They had to.  He just couldn't go on like this, caught in between.  Not a man and not a monster.  It was going to end.  Tossing his cigarette to the ground and gunning the engine, he took off into the night, destination, Sunnydale Airport.

* * *

The ride to the airport had been silent, except for the constant hum of the bike's engine.  It had been him, the night and his thoughts, which had turned out to not be his most brilliant idea.  It had all been enough to drive him batty.  He hated himself, more than he could say or wanted to admit. By the time he pulled the bike into a parking space, he was ready to find a sharp piece of wood and end his own existence.  That's when he realized that something was definitely wrong with him.  He wished to hell he knew what it was so that he could stop it.

It was good that the arrangements for his flight had been made earlier, before he had totally lost his mind.   He and Clem had called in a few favors from their poker buddies using the story that he had tried to kill the Slayer's sister and now needed to get out of town and as far away as possible, quickly.  The tale had worked, the demon community none the wiser as to his true reason for going to Africa.

As he entered the terminal, he looked around for Sirius, the shape-shifting demon who could take human form.  By day Sirius was a Nantreler demon and by night he was a baggage handler at the Sunnydale Airport.  Bloody brilliant!

He spotted the demon standing by the doors to the tarmac, its eyes darting this way and that, probably scanning the room looking for him.  Putting on his best menacing face, he strode towards Sirius, trying to swagger as he did in the old days after a particularly satisfying kill.  That had gotten the demon's attention.  Good.

"You Spike?"  Sirius asked, folding his arms across his chest and looking Spike over, a bit frightened at the prospect of being in the company of William the Bloody.

"That's right.  You Sirius?"

"Yep."

"Right then.  Let's get moving, shall we?  Wouldn't want to miss my flight; especially with the Slayer hot on my trail and all."

"Did you really try to kill her kid sister?"

"What can I say?"  Spike grinned wickedly.  "I was hungry."

Sirius laughed and clapped him on the back.  "Man, you are so dead if she catches you.  Follow me," he stated, tilting his head towards the door.  "I've got your transportation all lined up."

Once they reached the hanger bay, Spike let out a low whistle at the site of his transportation, a sleek Gulf Stream jet.  "Nice."

"Borrowed it from my brother-in-law, Aroghetto Baldassare.  He's a vampire too, pretty wealthy one in New Orleans, master or something like that.  Anyway, he assured me the pilot was trustworthy and could take you anywhere you wanted in the world."

"Thanks mate."

"Sure thing," Sirius replied as he opened the door to the jet.  "Good luck to you."

Spike nodded and climbed aboard the plane.  Once inside, he found his way to a plush chair and sat down, the weight of his actions finally crashing down on him.  He closed his eyes and gripped the arms of the chair to keep from sobbing.  Suddenly the sound of the engines coming to life filled his ears.  It sounded more like a purr than a roar, even with his sensitive hearing.

"Mr. Spike?"  The pilot asked as he walked into the cabin.

"That'd be me," he answered, eyes still closed.

"I'm Rayford, your pilot.  I've been briefed on your special circumstances.  There are just a few things I need to tell you before we proceed.  First, you don't have to worry about the windows.  No need to pull the shades or worry about falling asleep with them open.  They have been specially treated so that you won't be burned when the sun comes out.  Second, fridge is fully stocked with blood, once I have this bird on autopilot, I can come back and warm you up a cup or two.  You look like you could use some."

Nice, he could almost get used to this kind of life style.  "Thanks mate, but no need for you to do that.  Can do it myself.  Thanks for the info on the windows though.  Was a bit worried that I might be a pile of ash before we reach our destination."

"We'll have to refuel at some point but for your convenience, I have it worked out to be in Africa when night falls."  Rayford turned and began to make his way towards the cockpit.  "I'll contact the tower and we'll be on our way in just a few minutes, sir."

"Great," Spike replied, closing his eyes again.

* * *

The ride had been smooth and Spike had been grateful for the company that Ray provided once he turned on the autopilot.  They had talked about anything and everything so that he couldn't dwell on the things he was running from.  After a few hours, Ray left the cabin to let him get some sleep, but truth be told, none was to be had.  Voices in his head screamed out at him as the pictures of what he had done in the bathroom flashed through his mind again and again.  It was too bad the windows were tinted.

True to his word, Ray put the plane down in Africa exactly at nightfall.  Spike thanked him for his help and then disembarked.  Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he set off towards the small village that Clem had given him directions for, both hope and self-loathing filling him at the same time.

On the outskirts of the village was a hostel.  It was somewhat dilapidated, the paint fading from too many hours in the bright sun, but he decided to get a room before continuing.  At the front desk, he picked up a key.  After having to threaten the desk clerk with death, he got directions to the demon's lair and quickly went to his room to change.  He decided to leave his belongings in the closet.  He didn't have anything of value, just a few shirts, so he figured if anyone wanted his things, they were more than welcome to have them, especially since he may not make it back.

Taking a deep breath, he walked out into the night and started on his journey.

* * *

The moon was full and cast brilliant white light down on the land below, helping Spike to see exactly where it was he was going.  Not that he really needed the light since he had his vampiric sight, but it didn't hurt, just in case.  The sound of drums and pipe music reached his ears as he entered the village.  If his heart could beat, it definitely would have broken his chest by this point.  The anticipation of what was to come, what he would be facing in the next few hours was starting to overwhelm him.  It wasn't going to be easy, he knew that, but this had to be done.  Things _had_ to change.

He walked through the village, between grass huts, his stride determined and purposeful.  He passed women sitting around a fire talking while other villagers milled in the background, eyes on him.  Dozens of pairs of eyes on him, watching him; knowing where he was going, what he was doing.  He could tell they knew.  It wasn't every night that a vampire walked around these parts in search of a demon.  Didn't matter though…  They didn't matter.  The only thing that mattered right now was getting to that demon and changing everything.

The man from the front desk of the hostel caught up with him and began speaking to him, his voice urgent and pleading.

"Not asking for permission, mate," Spike replied indifferently as he continued to walk, more determined than before, despite the pleas from the clerk becoming more urgent.

Spike finally slowed his pace after entering the cave.  The interior of the cave was pitch black so he flicked on his lighter.  Using the soft light of the flame, he scanned the walls, taking notice of the paintings and images that adorned them.  Most of them depicted peoples' faces in pain; red paint splattered everywhere signifying blood, lots of blood.  It was ghastly.  He could feel his resolve soften at the sight of them.  As he stopped to consider a separate painting of a black figure holding out an arm with blood dripping from it, a strong breeze blew through the cave, extinguishing his flame.

Suddenly, a harsh voice spoke out into the darkness.  "You seek me, vampire?"

Spike couldn't make out any distinguishing characteristics of the demon before him, except for the glowing eyes.  "You do the finger paintings?"  He snarked, trying desperately to hide the fact that he had become nervous.  "Nice work."

"Answer me."

Spike rolled his eyes and sighed.  "Yeah, I seek you."  This thing was going to be one annoying git, he could tell already.

"Something about a woman.  The Slayer."

"Thinks she's better than me," he stated, nodding his head as anger began to boil inside of him again.  "Ever since I got this bleeding chip in my head, things ain't been right.  Everything's gone to hell."

"And you want me to return your soul?"

"Yeah," Spike replied, his courage returning with the anger.

The demon began to laugh evilly.

"What?"  Spike demanded, barely keeping his anger in check.

"Look what she has reduced you to."

"It's this bloody chip..."

"It's more than your chip.  You were a legendary dark warrior, and you let yourself be castrated.  And you have the audacity to crawl in here and demand restoration?"

"I'm _still_ a warrior."

"You're a pathetic excuse for a demon!"

"Yeah?"  Spike growled, taking a step forward.  "I'll show you pathetic.  Give me your best shot!"

"You'd never endure the trials required to grant your request."

"Do your worst.  But when I win...I want what I came here for."

The demon eyed him but said nothing in response.

"Bitch is gonna see a change."

Still glaring at Spike, the demon took a step forward.  "Fine, Vampire.  But you will only get what you ask for once you have completed the trials.  Once you have completed one trial, the next will be that more difficult."

"Right."

"You understand then?"

"Yeah, yeah," Spike replied, somewhat eager to get on with the whole thing.  "It's not like you haven't been clear about it, oh great mysterious one.  This is a test.  I don't get what I want unless I pass said test.  That about the size and shape?"

"Yes."

"And since your pad is decked out gladiator-style, and no number two pencils have been provided, I guess we're not starting with the written."

A very large, muscular man appeared from the darkness.

"Oh, here we go then.  Just me and the walking action figure.  I'm venturing this would be kill-or-be-killed type of situation then?"

"To the death," the demon replied harshly.

"Right," Spike stated as he turned to face his opponent.  "Here we are now.  Entertain us."

The man held up his fists and smacked his arms together.  Suddenly, both hands burst into flames.

"Oh, son of a bi..." Spike said, trailing off after the man punched him in the face.  He sagged to his knees with the impact.  Another punch and he was on his bottom, scrambling backwards.  What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

After several hours, or days, Spike wasn't sure anymore, he lifted the latest creature above his head, received its powers and threw it against the cave wall with a thunderous yell.

"Right.  Now.  I've beaten your tests.  You said this was the last one.  You bloody well better give me what I came here for."

The demon stood looking at Spike.  "You have endured the required trials and have done well, vampire."

"Bloody right, I have!"

"But I cannot give you that which you already have."

Enraged, Spike's hand shot out and took the demon by the throat.  "You said if I beat your tests I could have whatever I bloody well wanted…" Suddenly he realized what the thing had said.  He dropped it as if there was a fire in his hand.

Again, the demon stated, "I cannot give you that which you already have."

"Yeah, yeah.  I get it you stupid git.  So where does that leave me?"

"You have passed the tests.  You may have whatever you wish."

"Anything?"  Spike asked looking intently at the creature.

"Anything."

"Fine then.  You know what I want.  Make me what I was so Buffy can get what she deserves."

The demon walked over to Spike and put its hand on the vampire's chest.  Everything began to glow.  "Bloody hell!"  Spike shouted and then passed out.


	2. Gift With Purchase

**Author:**  PSUbrat  
**Rating:**  PG-13 Some language and violence  
**Disclaimer and spoiler warning:**  All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to...I'm just borrowing them for a while.  This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset.    
**Summary:**  Spike begins to deal with the ramifications stemming from completing his trials...  
**Timeframe:**  Immediately following "The Journey Begins"

**_Chapter 1 – Gift With Purchase_**

Slowly, and padding softly, one of the villagers entered the cave, a torch lighting her way.  She was amazed at the site of the prone figure on the dirt floor.  None of them had expected him to last the trials, let alone still be alive after several days without food and water.  Quietly, she placed a bowl of fresh fruit on the ground beside him, along with a pouch of water.  She knew that once he woke up, once he let his demons pass, he would be thirsty and ravenous.  After making sure that he would find their gifts upon wakening, she removed a couple of crude brushes and some ink from her bag and quickly began to draw on the wall, telling the man's story.  It was a story of hope and courage and she had been chosen by the village to relay that message to any who might venture forth in the future seeking the beast.  Once she completed her task, she quickly left the cave, leaving her torch behind and never looking back at the man who was still lying motionless on the ground.

Spike heard the woman's foot falls fade into the distance.  Once he was certain she was gone, he allowed himself to writhe in agony, waves of pain crashing over his battered body.  Sobs escaped from his dry, cracked lips as the soreness became too much for him to bear.  He wasn't sure if it had been only hours or days that he lay unconscious on the dirt ground, aware only of the pain and the darkness.  Death had been elusive no matter how much he had wished for it to come and take him away, away from the guilt that was eating at his being.  The pain he could handle, but the guilt; that was a different story, especially since he didn't know who he was, let alone what he had done to be feeling this way.

Bit by bit he began to return to his senses, not that he wanted to but because his body was screaming out in hunger.  Eventually, he mustered the energy to roll himself onto his side, wincing as his ribs yelled in protest of the action.  That's when he saw the bowl of fruit and the pouch of water.  Immediately, all thoughts of guilt and pain were swept away by the sight of the nourishment.  Greedily, he grabbed the pouch and began taking large gulps of the cool liquid, ignoring the resistance of his throat to swallow it down.  He began coughing uncontrollably as his body refused to work the way he demanded it to, his sides and chest throbbing in response.  Once the coughing subsided, and he was able to at least wet his lips and mouth, he put the pouch down and reached for the fruit.  He wasn't sure what he was eating, but it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted in his life.

After he had consumed as much of the fruit as his stomach would accept, he struggled into a sitting position.  Obviously he could use a bit more time to recover from his wounds but his instincts told him that he needed to leave the cave as soon as possible so that he wouldn't become demon food.  Demon food?  Now why would he think...oh, right.  The trials.  He vaguely remembered something about fighting demons.  That should have been a very frightening thought; the existence of demons, but something was very familiar about it.  Well, now it was time for fight or flight.  He decided to choose flight since he was certain his fighting abilities were a bit sub standard at the moment.  

Confident that he could make it out of the cave despite his wounds; he used the walls to steady himself as he tried to stand.  Immediately he felt dizzy and nauseous.  This was turning into much more of an effort than he originally planned, every part of his body was crying out in agony.  What exactly had happened to him?

Before he could answer his own question, he lurched his body forward, trying desperately to make it out of the cave.  Something was off.  There was something about him that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Bloody hell!"  He growled, as he tripped over a rock and went sprawling, causing new waves of pain to rush through his body.  The more he pushed himself, the weaker he became.  Well, one thing was certain, he seemed to be British.

"Gotta keep movin' or you'll be tonight's supper," he whispered to himself as he willed his body to get up again.  Finally, his feet started moving as if his brain had finally reconnected to the rest of his body.

"'Bout bloody time you got your wits about you, you stupid git."  He paused.  Now he was talking to himself?  Brilliant…!  Nothing better than an amnesiac British bloke yammering to himself.  Maybe if he was lucky, someone would call the professionals and he would be whisked off to the asylum.  That would be a blessing.

Several minutes later, he rounded a corner and caught sight of the mouth of the cave.  Adrenalin pumped through his body, giving him that extra rush to keep moving forward.  He stumbled along the last few feet, his body unable to keep its balance, yet he was still determined to push on.  Between the adrenaline rush and his desire to get as far away as possible from whatever it was that had done this to him, he wasn't really paying attention to where he was going.   His already aching body was thrown forward with his momentum as he stepped into a deep fissure.  He was unable to brace himself in time for the fall and as a result, his head smacked down on the side of a boulder with a sickening thud.  Everything went black.

* * *

The first thing that he was aware of as he began to flitter back to consciousness was the pounding ache on the left side of head.  Without opening his eyes, he tentatively reached up to touch the wound.  It felt sticky so it had been bleeding, but it seemed to have stopped for the moment.  Great!  Just bloody great!  If it wasn't one thing, it was always another.  He felt even weaker than before, if that was possible.  "Must be a concussion," he muttered to himself, still keeping his eyes tightly shut.  The blow to his head certainly hadn't helped his memories return.

Sighing, he tried to move his body into a more comfortable position until he could muster up the strength to continue yet again.  That's when he noticed it, the warmth.  It covered him from head to toe, as if someone had taken pity on him and wrapped him in a warm woolen blanket.  It was comforting...soothing, like nothing he had felt in years.  As his brain began to process the information, his eyes flew open and he screamed.  Scrambling backwards on his hands, he threw himself into the shadows of the cave.  Why was he acting this way?  He felt delusional.  

Standing on wobbly legs and gripping the trunk of a tree for support, he began to take an internal inventory of himself, hoping that it would jog his memory.  Other than the bump on his head and the aches and pains throughout his body, his heart was still beating and his lungs were still drawing air, both being of the good, so he had no idea as to why he would be screaming at the touch of the sun.  However, something was tugging at the edges of his mind, telling him that he should be frightened for his welfare.

"Do you not like your gift?"  A man asked in broken English as he appeared out of nowhere.

Frightened by the man's sudden appearance, he yelped and stumbled backwards, falling to the ground yet again.  "Gift?"  He asked, trying to regain his composure.

"Yes.  You have been given a tremendous gift, vampire.  You are the prophesied one."

"What are you talking about?  What prophesy?  And why did you call me a vampire?"  His mind was reeling.  Had the man really just called him a vampire?

"Come," the man said gently, extending his hand to assist Spike to his feet.  "I will show you."

"Show me?"  He asked, allowing the man to help him to his feet.  "Can't you just paint me a picture, maybe show me a photograph?"

"You have nothing to fear from me, vampire.  I am not your enemy but you will soon have many."

* * *

For about half an hour, Spike trailed after the mystery man as he wound his way through several groupings of huts in the village, finally coming to a stop outside of a dilapidated building.  The man motioned for him to follow as he entered the building, which seemed to serve as some sort of hotel.

"You clean up now.  I will come back for you soon."

"I don't think I follow you, mate," Spike replied, a little confused as to why the man was leaving him off here of all places.

"Go to your room and clean up.  Bandage your wounds.  I will come back for you shortly."

Spike frowned.  "Look, I don't have a room..."

"Check your pocket."

Reaching into the front pocket of his jeans, his fingers brushed the coolness of metal.  A key.  Pulling it out of his pocket, he looked at it in awe.  Obviously he had been here before.  "Right.  I'll just clean up then..." He started softly but heard no answer.  Looking around, he noticed that the man had already disappeared.  "Bloody hell!"

Looking at the key again, he hoped to find his room number engraved on it.  Sure enough, the number was crudely etched into the head of the key.  Running his hand though his hair and taking a deep breath, he limped over to the front desk and rang the bell.  A young woman stepped out of the back room, eyeing him curiously.

"It's you," she gasped as she lowered her eyes and tried not to look him in the face again.

"Yeah, it's me.  Would you be a love and send some water and bandages to room," he looked back down at the key to tell her the right number, "three?"

The girl nodded her reply without looking up.

Frowning, he thanked her for her help and then headed to his room.

* * *

Silently, he let himself into the room that his key said belonged to him.  The room was small and had recently been cleaned; it smelled of vanilla and roses.  He ambled over to the bed and sat down on the edge, letting the scents wash over him.  The smells triggered images in his mind, of a beautiful, blonde woman.  Frustration and then love were the emotions that enveloped his being as he allowed the images to flash through his psyche.  However, as he allowed the perfume-like scent to caress his senses, his conscience began to scream out at him, showing him flashes of violence instead.

"My god, what have I done?"  He whispered as he buried his face in his hands.  The guilt was staggering.  He had done something to this woman, the woman he supposedly loved more than life itself.  How could he?  What kind of man was he?

A knock at the door startled him.  It took him a few moments for his mind to swim back to the present before he could answer.  "Come in," he croaked as he tried to wipe away the tears that had welled up in his eyes.

The young woman from the front desk shuffled in, carrying a large tray.  Quietly, and without ever glancing his way, she set the tray down in the corner and retreated to the hall, closing the door behind her.

She was gone before he could thank her.  Slowly he stood and made his way over to the tray.  He was pleasantly surprised to see that the girl had included towels and food with the water and bandages.  Suddenly feeling the need for a shower, he grabbed the towels and set off in search of the bathroom.

* * *

After half an hour in a hot, soothing bath, he returned to his room, a towel wrapped about his waist and his filthy jeans tucked under his arm.  He hadn't thought about a change of clothes before cleaning up, but now he hoped that somewhere in his room, there might be something else for him to wear since the thought of putting the grimy jeans back on his now dirt free body repulsed him.  Before he could search the closet for new clothing, he noticed that someone had already done that for him while he had been out.

Quickly he scanned the room to make sure he was alone.  It was silent and empty; the only movement came from the curtains in the open widow, fluttering slightly in the breeze.  He tossed the dirty jeans into a corner and began to dress in the jeans that had been left on the bed for him.  He even found a pair of boots, in his size, placed neatly next to the nightstand.

Walking over to what he assumed was the closet; he opened the door and found a jacket and a few other shirts hanging inside.  Were these his things?  Nothing looked familiar to him but they were all in his size so either he had brought them here from wherever it was he came from, or someone went out and bought him clothing.  Figuring it wasn't the second option and noticing a bag on the floor of the closet, he guessed that everything must belong to him.

Before he could bend down to pick up the bag, he caught sight of the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the door.  Tilting his head to the side, he took a good look at the image before him.  So this was what he looked like?  Average height.  Thin.  Quite handsome despite the bruises to his face and what was this?  Bleached blonde hair?  Horrified, he reached up and ran his hand through his hair, quirking an eyebrow in response.  What kind of ponce was he, dying his hair this ungodly shade of blonde?  Silly, really…  From this point on, he decided, he would let the blonde grow out.  Good thing too, he didn't want anyone thinking he was some kind of Nancy boy!

After taking one last glance in the mirror, he grabbed one of the shirts, threw it on the bed and then headed towards the tray that the girl had left behind.  Grabbing the gauze, tape and the cup of smelly ointment, he walked back over to the mirror so that he could see what he was doing.  He decided to let the head wound go since he had cleaned it thoroughly in the bath, plus it was no longer bleeding.  The wounds that concerned him most were the burns on his chest.  Carefully, he applied some of the ointment and then covered and taped each wound.  He was surprised at how soothing the salve was on his skin, making it tingle, but in a good way.

Once he finished applying the bandages, he bent down into the bottom of the closet and took out the bag.  Hoping to find something that would tell him who he was, he took the bag over to the bed and unzipped it.  There wasn't much inside except some cigarettes, a book and a couple of pictures.  He took the pictures out and sat down on the floor, carefully looking them over.  The first was of a young girl whom he guessed couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old.  She had long brown hair and a pretty smile.  Frowning, he flipped it over, hoping to find something to tell him who she was.  Written on the back, in perfect penmanship, was one word, Dawn.  Was that the girl's name?  He knew he should know her, feel something for her, but he still couldn't grasp those memories.

"Nice to meet you, Dawn," he said to himself as he turned the picture back over.  Was she his daughter?  No, he wasn't old enough; at least he didn't think he was.  Maybe she was his sister?  He stared at the picture for several minutes but nothing came to him.  Sighing, he picked up the next picture.  He gasped and almost dropped the photo to the floor when he recognized the woman as the one from earlier, the one that he had loved and hurt.  He choked back a sob as the guilt washed over him once again.  Who was she and what had he done to her?  Obviously she had meant a great deal to him, but had he meant anything to her?

His hands trembled as he slowly turned the picture over, hoping to find her name written on the back as he had with Dawn's but there was nothing.  Not even a hint of who she might be.  Tears filled his eyes and threatened to spill down his cheeks as he began to trace every feature of the woman in the photo with a shaking finger.  She was blonde, petite and breathtakingly beautiful.  His body ached to hold her, to tell her how ashamed he was for whatever it was he did to her.  She was his home and wherever she was, that's where he wanted to be, where he ached to be.

"Who are you?"  He whispered softly to the picture.  "Please tell me who you are.  Help me remember who I am."

"She is your soul mate," a voice replied from the doorway.  "The one you must save from the coming darkness."

Spike's head whipped around in shock as he glared at the man from earlier in the day.  He thought he had been alone.  "I'm gonna put a bell on your bleedin' neck, mate."

"I did not mean to startle you.  I said that I would come by later to pick you up.  It is now later."

"Right," he replied, wiping his eyes and trying to regain his manliness.  "So then, you know who she is?"

"Yes."

"And?"  He demanded when the man didn't respond.  Rolling his eyes and sighing, he shoved the picture of the woman out in front of him.  "Who is she?"

"I've already told you.  She is your soul mate."

"Right, got that part.  How about a name?"

"She is the Slayer."

"The Slayer?  Isn't that a group?"

The man stood silently, waiting patiently for Spike to process the information.

"You're not going to tell me anything else, are you?"

"No.  It is not my place."

"Fine then.  Do _you_ have a name?  Be nice to be able to call you something other than the word that I'm thinking at the moment."

"I am Zareb..."

"Means protector.  Wait, how did I know that?"

"You understand many things, vampire."

Spike growled in frustration.  "Why do you keep calling me that?  I'm no vampire.  My heart beats; I breathe; I even have a reflection.  How can I be a vampire?"

The man smiled in response.

"Okay then.  One more question.  "Who am I, besides someone you think is a bleedin' vampire?"

"You are the prophesied one.  The one who will save the world and help bring the end of darkness."

Crossing his arms over his chest, he quirked an eyebrow in question.  "Uh huh.  Sure.  But do I have a _name_?"

"You do."

"Brilliant.  Let's have it then."  He was growing impatient with the games.  All he wanted was to remember who he was and why he was here.

The man cast his eyes downward, bowing his head before he spoke.  "You are William the Bloody, One quarter the Scourge of Europe, Slayer of Slayers, Destructor of Demons and in the end, Bringer of Life."

Spike stood, staring at the man, mouth agape.  "That's quite a resume I've got, mate.  What does it all mean?"

"All in time, vampire.  All in time."  


	3. Seeking Shelter

Author: PSUbrat  
Rating: PG-13 Some language and violence  
Disclaimer and spoiler warning: All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to...I'm just borrowing them for a while. This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset.   
Summary: Spike travels to England for help and hope...  
Timeframe: A few weeks after "Gift With Purchase"

  
**_Chapter 2 – Seeking Shelter_**

The flight to England was crowded and noisy, yet Spike heard nothing, not even the child screaming behind him. He sat in his east, as if in a trance, head resting heavily on the window as he stared out into the azure sky, the kind that only comes with being 37,000 feet in the air. It had been almost three weeks since he had followed Zareb to the village elders. There they had given him some type of concoction to help bring back his memories. He had scoffed at the idea of a potion doing what banging his head on a rock and looking at pictures could not. His eyes slipped closed as he remembered swallowing the foul smelling, amber liquid and the burning sensation that had followed – and then the flood of memories and emotions. He winced, opened his eyes again and forced himself to look out the window, hoping that if he watched the passing terrain he could keep the dam of memories from bursting through again.

Why? That was the question of the hour. Why was he human? He had asked the demon to make him what he once was, what she deserved but instead of being a vampire again, he was now a human. Living and breathing. He had assumed asking to be what he once was would have meant turning him back into a monster, but then, he had never been a monster with a soul. A soul. How had that happened? He had been a vampire with a soul. So Peaches hadn't been so special after all. That thought gave him pause. If he'd had a soul the whole time, then why hadn't he been all broody, moping over all of the deaths he had caused over the past century? Surely he would have known if he'd had a soul, right? The elders couldn't, or wouldn't, explain that particular development. They had told him that all things would be revealed to him in time. In time? Whose time? Certainly it wasn't on his time otherwise he'd know what the bloody hell was going on. Ponces – the whole sodding lot of them.

He looked down at his hands as rays of sunlight danced off his pale skin. Sunlight. After three weeks, it still amazed him that he could walk in the sun without bursting into flames. There were several things he was sure would take some time getting used to, including the sound of his heart beating. Odd that – he supposed that most people took for granted that their hearts could beat, but it was music to his ears. Now he needed answers.

As the plane banked right to begin its descent into Heathrow airport, the knot in his stomach grew. He couldn't believe he was doing this, going to search out the one person he knew would probably kill him on sight, especially if Buffy had told him about…. He couldn't even bring himself to think about that right now, no time; besides, he had committed himself to this trip, even if it meant his death. In his mind he deserved no less.

After what seemed like ages, the plane finally rolled to the terminal and came to rest. While the other passengers scrambled to grab their bags and children, he found himself frozen to his seat, fingers suddenly unable to open his seat belt. Nerves raw, fear and dread gripped his body. Was he really here in England? He hadn't been here in years, not since before Prague. Would it be the same? Would it feel like home? Probably not. Home was in Sunnydale. Home was in her arms. At least it had been before he…

"Sir?" The flight attendant asked as she approached him. She waited for him to respond but when he didn't, she tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Sir?"

He jumped, startled out of his thoughts. "Y-yes?"

"Sir, do you need assistance?"

"Assistance?" He asked with a frown, not understanding. He watched as she gestured to his seat belt. "Oh. No. Sorry. Just a little slow, is all."

"Well, I'm going to have to ask you to gather your things. You're the only passenger left and we need to get the cleaning crew in."

"Right. Sorry." He finally found the ability to unlatch the belt and grab his bag. As he stood to make his way into the aisle the flight attendant tapped him on the shoulder again.

"Is this your first time back home?"

"Come again?" He asked, surprised and suddenly on edge.

"You just seem like someone who's coming home again, that's all. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No," he replied, softening somewhat. "You didn't upset me; I just didn't think it was that noticeable."

"Only to those who have come back after years of being away." She smiled brightly at him. "Been there myself not so long ago. I'm originally from the States…So, are you here to see family?"

"No," he responded as he slowly made his way to the front of the plane, the attendant following after him. "Looking up an old friend."

"Old girlfriend?"

"No. Just an old friend."

"Great!"

He shot her a look of surprise at her response. Why was she so interested in who he was going to see?

"Uhm, I just mean…Good, that you're looking for a friend; a male friend even."

"Right. Male." He watched as she smiled sweetly at him, he could feel his cheeks beginning to flush under her gaze.

"I was wondering…" she started, batting her eyelashes and stepping closer to him. She had been watching him ever since he boarded and was sure that he was single. There was no telltale mark or band on his left hand that would have given the indication that he was married, nor did he seem in a hurry to meet anyone at the gate. Now was as good a time as any to make her move. "Would you like to get a drink with me while I wait for my next flight?"

He looked at her, eyes wide with shock. "I, uh, I really should…" Dear Lord! Was this woman asking for a date? The Big Bad being asked on a date. The thought was both frightening and exhilarating. He hadn't thought about dating since, well, since before he had been turned, and now here he was, over a century later, being asked to have drinks. Suddenly he felt nauseas.

It's okay," the woman stated quickly as she looked away, trying to hide her embarrassment. "I understand. You're not interested…"

"It's not that," he added, a bit uncomfortable with the situation. "Well, it is but…it's nothing you did…It's just that…" He stopped as the picture he had been keeping close to him, fluttered from his grasp and onto the floor. Before he had a chance to make a move, the young woman was already picking it up. Slowly he held out his hand to retrieve his most precious possession. With everything that had happened in the last few weeks the furthest thing from his mind was a woman. Actually, strike that, there was a woman on his mind…constantly. 

"She's very pretty," she said as she handed him the picture. She should have known – the good-looking ones were always taken.

He smiled softly at her, nodding his thanks. As he turned his back to her and continued down the ramp into the terminal, he wondered if his face was as red as it felt hot.

* * *

After easily clearing customs – a shock even to him – Spike headed towards the underground station to catch the tube into the city. The mojo that the elders had performed seemed to work brilliantly. No one questioned who he was or why he was there. It was almost as if he was invisible, he surely felt that way.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he boarded the Piccadilly line and quickly took a seat, trying not to look at anyone in the process. He was convinced that anyone who looked at him was sure to see through his façade, that they would see the murderer and potential rapist that lurked just beneath the surface.

Soon enough, the car lurched forward and began to chug along its rails. His stomach tightened as he heard station after station called out, bringing him closer to his destination. Acton Town, Hammersmith, Gloucester Road – All places that tugged at memories from a lifetime ago. People got on and people got off, but he didn't notice; his mind was racing elsewhere to memories of another kind.

Ask me again why I could never love you!

The words, her words, rocketed through him, making his breath catch in his chest and his body tense. Burying his face in his hands, he tried not to weep openly in public. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. Slowly he lowered his hands and eased back into his seat, steadying his breathing and holding in the sobs that wanted to escape from his throat. From the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes his whole being ached. Guilt – Crashed through him, over him, in him, wracking his mind and soul – torturing him.

Her voice. Her face. Everything swirled through his mind, hammering on his conscience. Of all the mayhem, murder and injuries that he had caused over the last century, the one that plagued him continuously was what he had done to her in the bathroom. How could he have done something so despicable to the person who was supposedly his soul mate, the yin to his yang, the half that completed him? Demon or no, he was a monster. And to make matters worse, he'd had a soul when he'd done that. True, the elders had explained that demon had been wrestling with the soul, fighting for control of his body, but he had never realized that was what had been happening. He had always believed it had been the chip keeping him in check, making him whipped. But it wasn't. He had a soul. And he had hurt her.

He needed to be punished. Perhaps that's why he was seeking the one person who would happily kill him without giving it a second thought. Was his subconscious trying to tell him something? If he had still been a vampire, the answer would have been simple. He would have found a sharp piece of wood and done the running through himself, or he would have taken a walk in the sun. Easy enough. No fuss, no muss. Being human now made offing himself a bit more difficult, not to mention messy. Thoughts of all that blood and gore definitely did not appeal to him. Plus, it was the coward's way out and he'd be damned if he was going to let anyone think him a coward. Not after what he had just done…for her. Everything for her. Always.

* * *

As the car began to slow, his stop was announced. Spike ran his fingers through his increasingly thickening hair and took a deep breath to steady himself before gathering up his bag and walking out onto the underground platform. Slowly he climbed the steps to the outside world. South Kensington. He had never seen anything so comforting and alien in his whole life. Nothing and everything had changed, making his return a bittersweet moment. It was almost as overwhelming as his guilt. Almost.

Absently he searched his jeans pocket for the slip of paper that held the information he needed to track down the only one that he could trust. The elders had assured him that the man he sought would indeed be in town when Spike arrived. All he had to do was to go to this address and knock on the door. Sounded easy enough. But he was troubled. Magic always had consequences and he was just waiting to see what consequences he would suffer as a result of the elders' mojo and his becoming human. He shuddered at the thought.

Setting aside his thoughts, he picked his way carefully through the crowds, hoping to locate a taxi. Finding one with its sign on, he opened the door and slid into the backseat with an audible sigh.

"Where to, mate?" The driver asked with a thick Cockney accent and a raised eyebrow.

"Uhm," he hesitated as he squinted at the slip of crumpled paper. "5-6 Manson Place."

The driver laughed. "Would drive you there if it weren't a five minute walk, but I will, up to you."

"So it's not far then?"

"It's just up this street and over the way there, to the right," the driver said, pointing. "Want to walk or ride?"

Spike sighed. The walk would do him some good; calm his nerves but he was concerned he would get cold feet and run in the opposite direction. "I'd like the ride if it's not a problem with you."

"Not at all," the driver replied, moving off. He could sense the man's uneasiness, but he had made it a habit a long time ago to not ask his fare any questions. It was better that way, especially around here. Too many up-tight gits in suits telling him to mind his own business. The man in the back didn't strike him as one of those, but he was heading to an address that housed many of them. He hoped the man knew what he was getting himself into.

Less than two minutes later, the taxi came to a stop in front of an old, large Victorian-esque type building. The sign outside told Spike that he was at the Queensgate Apartments. Clearly, he was at the right place. He reached into his pocket and paid the driver, tipping him generously for taking up his time.

Several minutes passed before he could will his feet to move towards the door. He still couldn't believe he was doing this, then again there were a lot of things he couldn't believe he was doing anymore. Checking the slip of paper again, he realized that the flat number wasn't provided. He would have to stop by the porter's desk and have them ring the man.

"Can I help you?" A young woman in a neatly pressed uniform asked, first eyeing him suspiciously and then appreciatively.

"Yes. I'm looking for Rupert Giles. I don't have his flat number so I was wondering if you could ring him for me."

She tossed her chestnut brown hair over her shoulder and smiled. "I know for a fact that Mr. Giles is not at home at this moment. He stepped out earlier this morning. Would you like to leave a message for him?"

His shoulders slumped. "Do you know if he'll be returning today?" The thought of Giles being out of town on business had never crossed his mind but it would be just his luck if he were.

"I'm not really privy to Mr. Giles comings and goings," she stated, watching with great interest as the man's face fell further. "However, I believe he shall be back this evening."

Spike looked up, giving her a small smile. "Thanks. I'll try again later."

"Is there a message?"

"No. No message."

"Very well then. Have a good day."

"Right. You too."

Just his bloody luck that Giles chose this particular day to step out. Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the building, swearing softly to himself. He never noticed the young woman pick up the phone as soon as his back was turned.

What was he going to do now? He certainly couldn't sit outside waiting for Giles to return, not without drawing undue attention to himself. Looking up between the trees, he noticed that the sun was now lower in the sky. A slight breeze blew through the leaves and ruffled his hair. At least it was a nice day.

After several moments, he decided that a trip into London proper sounded like a brilliant idea. Maybe a little sightseeing or he could always "people watch" down by the Thames. He wished he had brought something to read with him, something to pass the time and keep his mind off of her and the guilt that consumed him. Well, if it was good reading he wanted, he knew exactly where to go.

* * *

Using a map to re-familiarize himself with the London underground, he took the Piccadilly line to Leicester Square. From there he decided to walk the short distance to Charing Cross Road Station. Since it was such a beautiful day, the populace was out in droves. Every shop, pub and tourist attraction bustled with activity. Slowly he wound through the hordes of young girls that seemed to come from everywhere, giggling at their latest purchases and talking about boys. Ah, the blissfulness of youth and innocence. Had he ever been that young or that innocent? If he had, it had been far too long ago to remember.

As he continued to pass through the crowd, a young girl with long brown hair caught his eye. She had her back to him but he could tell that she was engaged in an animated conversation with her friends. Suddenly, his heart ached as he watched her throw her head back with laughter, the sun catching the highlights in her hair. Dawn. She reminded him of his Niblet. He laughed. His Niblet. She would never be his again. Not ever. Still, he wondered what she was doing at this moment in time. Did she even notice he was gone? Did she care? Sighing, he realized that it didn't matter anymore. More than likely she was too busy bugging big sis or hanging out at the mall with her friends, typical things that a girl her age should be doing.

All of a sudden he felt as if he were being watched. He didn't know how or why he knew, but he knew. Slowly, he turned away from watching the girl and her friends and scanned the crowded street, trying to make it look as casual as possible. His senses were on overload. Whoever was watching him was close by. A quick assessment of the area found no one out of the ordinary, just the usual blokes and birds going about their business. Things still didn't feel right with him though; his gut told him that things were far from ordinary. It was almost as if he still possessed his vampiric senses. That couldn't be though since he was now human. Maybe it was residual; after all, he had been a vampire for a very long time, long enough to know what's what.

The feeling intensified and he spun around, hoping to catch the person by surprise. Instead, it was he who was surprised. Standing in the shadows by a flower shop, was Zareb, or someone who looked just like him. Spike squinted into the sun, trying to make sure that his eyes weren't betraying him. No doubt about it. Securing his bag, he sprinted towards his African friend. As he came within five feet of his destination, the man turned and headed into the dark alley.

"Zareb!" Spike yelled, hoping to catch the man's attention. When his friend didn't stop, he picked up his pace and hurried into the alleyway after him.

Rounding the corner just seconds after Zareb, Spike ran into a young couple, their arms laden with shopping bags.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" The male growled in an obvious American accent.

"Sorry," Spike said apologetically, briefly taking his eyes off his friend to help the tourists pick up their bags. By the time he finished helping the couple, Zareb was gone, if it'd been him to begin with. Was he seeing things? No, he couldn't be. He would definitely know the man he had spent the last three weeks with, right? Then again, he had been noticing that his eyesight wasn't exactly what it had been as a vampire. Damn. This being human thing definitely had its setbacks. 

Casually he took in his surroundings, noticing that shops lined both sides of the alleyway. Zareb could have entered any one of them. "Bloody hell," he said to himself before he tried calling to his friend one last time. "Zareb?"

Nothing but the busy sounds of Charing Cross reached his ears. Sighing, he looked up to read the sign above his head. To his amusement, he found that he was standing in front of an occult bookshop. Well, if he were a wagering man, which he used to be, he'd wager that Zareb would have ducked inside this particular shop – made perfect sense to him.

A bell above the door, much like the one that hung at the Magic Box, announced his entry. The shop was a good size and was eerily similar to the one back home in California. He half expected Red or Glinda, even Anya, to pop out to assist him or give him a hard time. It even smelled like home. Amazing how the odor of musty books and magic supplies could bring about an overwhelming feeling of homesickness, so much so that it choked him with memories and longings for things that he would never have again. The thought of never seeing Sunnydale again was hard to deal with, especially since he had so many questions. What was he going to do with his new life? What could he do? He certainly hoped that Giles would help him; otherwise he feared he'd fall into a downward spiral and end up like his poofter grandsire – eating rats off the street. The thought made his shudder.

Trying to ignore his latest train of thought, he moved deeper into the shop, browsing the spines of old books that were lined up neatly along the far wall. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was Sunnydale and that he had passed through a portal somehow. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the Scoobies, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. This was definitely a surreal experience.

As he pulled out a rather old text to peruse, he heard footsteps behind him. Assuming that it was just the shopkeeper coming over to offer his aid, he only half turned towards the footsteps. Never looking up from the page he was scanning, he casually stated, "Just looking 'round, mate. Don't need assistance."

The footsteps began again, stopping right beside him. "Is there a…" he started with some irritation but before he could finish his sentence, the person standing next to him took in a sharp breath and spoke. 

"Spike? Dude is that you?"  



	4. Impending Storm

**_Author:_**_  PSUbrat  
_**_Rating:_**_  PG-13 Some language and violence  
_**_Disclaimer and spoiler warning:_**_  All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to...I'm just borrowing them for a while.  This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset.   
_**_Summary:_**_  Spike finds that familiar faces aren't always friendly, no matter how much a person has changed...  
_**_Timeframe:_**_  Immediately following "Seeking Shelter"_

Chapter 3 – IMPENDING STORM

Spike quickly turned to look at the person who had just addressed him by name.  His eyes widened as recognition set in.  The only coherent thought that his mind could process was that he _had_ stepped through a rift in time.  There was no other explanation.  There couldn't be.  His first instinct was to bolt out the door and run as hard and as fast as his newly human legs would take him, but he couldn't.  Prepping for his face to face with Giles was one thing, running into others was just entirely too overwhelming. He just wasn't ready to cope with more than one person from his past, but apparently fate had other ideas.  

"Man, you okay?"

"Uh..." Spike began uncertainly, still trying to steady himself.  "I'm not really sure.  Think I might be seeing things."  He tilted his head to the left and squinted his eyes, trying to make sure that it wasn't an illusion, which it could have been, easily; after all, he _had_ hit his head and gone through quite a bit of trauma the last few weeks.  Thinking of no other way to bring his mind out of this apparent daydream, he pinched himself. "Ouch!  Bloody hell!"

"What did you do that for?"

"Just making sure you're real, mate, and not a figment of my warped imagination."

"I'm real, but I'm starting to think you're a little insane.  Maybe more than a little actually."

"You could be right," Spike replied with a small smile, which quickly turned to a frown.  Taking a deep breath he plunged on with the question that he needed to pose; the question to make sure that this was real.  "_Oz_?"  He asked incredulously, "Is that you?"

"Yeah.  That would be me.  You sure you're all right?  Not that I care.  Thought I'd ask anyway." 

Spike noted that it was typical Oz speak, very little inflection, bordering on monotone.  "I-I'm fine.  Just a little surprised to see you here is all."

"Same here," Oz replied, his voice and expression unchanging.

"Does Red know you're here?"  It was the only thing he could think of to say next.  He and the werewolf had had very little interaction in the past and it was a bit difficult in his current state of mind to try to make small talk.

"That would be a definite no," the young man stated with a glare.

"Don't worry, mate.  You're secret's safe with me.  Not that I'd go blabbing that you're here or anything, 'cause I wouldn't.  It would just hurt her more, I think.  Plus there's the whole thing with me never going back to Sunnydale and…." He paused as he noticed the expression on Oz's face.  "Right.  I should shut my gob."

Oz quirked his eyebrow and frowned at Spike.  Something was off about the vampire.  "Interesting book you're holding."

Sheepishly Spike looked down at the tome in his hands.  _Vampire Myths and Legends_.

"Looking to see if you're in there?"

"No.  I, uhm..." Spike started but stopped as Oz began to circle him, sniffing the air.  "No need to be rude.  Just got in from a long flight," he stated uneasily.  "Can't smell that bad..."

Before Oz could reply, an arrow hit the wall directly behind Spike, missing him by millimeters.

* * *

Oz turned to the assailant and gave him a half smile.  "You missed."

"If I had intended to hit Spike, believe me, I would not have missed," the man said dryly.

"Trying to get my attention then, Watcher?"  Spike asked, plucking the arrow out of the plaster with ease and tossing it to Giles.  "You might need that later."

Giles caught the arrow and reloaded the crossbow.  "Spike," he said simply, acknowledging his existence.

"Watcher," Spike stated just as evenly.  "This your place?"  It was all he could do to keep from throwing himself at the man and begging for his help but that would come later, when Oz wasn't around.  Appearances had to be maintained, for now.

"It is."

"Should have known.  A bit homesick for the Hellmouth, are you?"  Spike asked looking around the shop and then raising an eyebrow when his gaze returned to Giles.

"It's not quite home but it's somewhat comfortable," Giles responded with a sigh.  After he realized that he was about to have a cordial conversation with Spike, he quickly changed back to his usual business manner, remembering that he was brassed off at the vampire.  "Where have you been, Spike? We could have used your assistance in Sunnydale fighting Warren."

Spike's eyes widened and his face flushed with worry.  "What do you mean you could have used my assistance?  What happened?  Is Buffy okay?"  In his anxiety he had closed the distance between himself and the Watcher.

"Do calm down, Spike," Giles replied, still glaring at him.  "Buffy is quite alright, no thanks to you."

"What-what do you mean?"  Spike demanded, his insides going cold as all of the color drained from his face.  Had she told Giles what had happened in the bathroom?  He waited, his body steeling itself for the explosion and the fist to his jaw that he was sure was to come next.

"I left the States knowing that you would be there to help her if the need arose, but instead you take off for parts unknown, at such a crucial time.  I have to say that I am extremely disappointed in you."  Giles paused, placed the crossbow on the table and then crossed his arms over his chest.  "That statement seems rather redundant now that I think about it."

Spike's shoulders slumped as he relaxed.  He should have expected this type of reaction from Giles, but the fact that Buffy was safe and unharmed made up for the cool reception.  "I'm sorry," he whispered, bowing his head and fighting back the tears.  He felt like such a ponce what with constantly being on the verge of tears.

"You…? A master vampire..? Sorry..!? You expect me to believe that after all the rot you've fed us in Sunnydale over the years?" Giles stated as he cleaned his glasses on his shirttail.  Noticing the slump in Spike's shoulders, he softened his tone a little.  "The irresponsibility you have displayed is so typical of you.  Don't you understand how grave the situation could have been if I hadn't shown up..."

"Uhm, Giles," Oz said, trying to interrupt the man's rant.  Up until this point he had held his tongue but it was now obvious that Giles was missing what was right in front of his face.

"...With the powers that I had been given by the Coven.  Things could have been much..."

Oz cleared his throat and tried again.  "Giles..."

"Oz, please..!  Can't you see that I'm trying to reprimand Spike for his selfishness?"

"Uh, yeah.  I get that, but," he said, pausing to briefly glance at Spike and then back at Giles.  "Don't you think there's something different about him?"

Spike's head shot up as he stared wide-eyed at Oz.  Had the wolf figured it out?  Of course!  His scent.  He now _smelled_ human.  

"Different how?"  Giles asked, putting his glasses back on and giving Spike the once over.

Holding Spike's gaze, Oz gave him a little smile and continued.  "Just, different."

"I see nothing different about the vampire before me," Giles stated, somewhat exasperated with the young werewolf.  "Other than the fact that his normal grooming habits have lapsed and his roots are showing."

"Watcher's right," Spike growled as he began to fidget.  This wasn't how he had rehearsed things.  "I haven't changed a bit."  It was a lie, bold faced and blatant and he regretted it as soon as it left his mouth but he couldn't help it.  He closed his eyes as fear began to sweep through him; fear that his newfound humanity wasn't going to matter to Giles and that the man would just turn him out, make him face the world alone. 

Oz leaned against the table, crossed his arms over his chest, then crossed his feet.  "Giles, you're totally missing it."

Giles sighed.  "If you have something to share, Oz, then please do so immediately, I'm in no mood for games."

"What time is it?"  Oz asked Giles with a wry smile, knowing that the question would further annoy the older man but he just couldn't help himself.

"What does the time have to do with Spike?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Spike replied quickly as he shelved the book and headed towards the front of the shop.  He needed to leave.  Now.  This had been a complete mistake.

"Spike, just where are you going?"  Giles demanded, his eyes following Spike's progress.

"Dunno, just not staying here.  A bloke knows when he's not welcome…"

Oz rolled his eyes and grabbed the Watcher's arm, pulling him after Spike.  "You know, for someone who's supposed to be a Watcher, you're pretty unobservant sometimes."

"I beg your pardon…"

"Spike, stop."  Oz insisted.

Spike froze, his body tensing, knowing that the werewolf was going to reveal his secret.  "What?"  He questioned wearily, not turning around and already knowing the answer.

"Giles, shouldn't vampires have an allergic reaction to sunlight?"

"Well, yes," Giles answered with a frown, still unsure of where the young man was going with his questions.  "We all know what happens to vampires when they are exposed to direct sunlight."

"That's what I thought," Oz said with a raised eyebrow, waiting to see if Giles put two and two together.  Realizing that he was going to have to spell it out, he walked over to the side windows and flipped up the shades, bathing Spike in afternoon sunshine.

Spike raised his hand to shield his eyes from the light.  The store had been somewhat darkened with the shades drawn so his eyes hadn't been ready for the sudden brightness streaming in through the windows.

Oz looked over to where Giles was standing, stock still, face unreadable.  "So?"

"So, indeed," Giles stated hoarsely, eyes boring into Spike's as he slowly walked towards him.

* * *

Giles stopped just short of Spike's location, his mouth agape.  "Spike, what-what have you done?"

The shrill sound of the telephone interrupted before Spike could reply.  "You want me to get that?"  Oz asked, gesturing towards the counter with his thumb.

"No, that's quite alright," Giles answered, trying to regain his composure as he hurried towards the counter.  "Though I may be somewhat stunned, I am still quite capable of answering the telephone.  Do stay put, Spike, while I take this call."

"Right," Spike replied, suddenly feeling a sense of relief that his secret was now out in the open, sort of.  There was still the little issue of explaining how it had all come about though.  That discussion certainly wasn't going to be a walk in the park, that's for sure.  How did one explain that they sought redemption after almost doing the unspeakable to the only woman they ever truly loved?

Oz continued to stand quietly by the window, studying the expressions that crossed Spike's face.  He recognized inner turmoil when he saw it and the former Big Bad certainly had plenty of it going on.  Amazing.  Had they both learned to control the demons within them?  He was about to ask Spike that very question when Giles' side of the conversation reached them.

"Yes, Bronwyn.  No, that's quite all right.  Daniel and I were in the back doing research.  Yes, I will tell him you said hello.  Is there a problem?  You did?  There's no message on the machine.  Oh right.  It's not turned on.  Sorry.  A man stopped by the flat?"  Giles asked as he turned to look at Spike with a frown.  "What did he look like?  Blond, incredible blue eyes and extremely handsome?  Yes," he sighed somewhat annoyed by the young woman's words, "I do know someone that fits that description.  He's here with me now.  His name?  Well…Yes, Bronwyn, I do know his name.  It's William.  No, he is not available…"

Spike snorted, partly in amusement.  That was twice today that a woman had inquired about his availability.  In the past he would have reveled in the attention, even been cocky about it, but now he was just too wrapped up in what had happened to him in Africa to give it a second thought.

Oz took notice of Spike's lack of enthusiasm.  Where was the bragger that he had known before he left Sunnydale?  This person looked like Spike but so far he had seen nothing to indicate that it was Spike.  "So, Spike…"

"So," Spike drawled out, wondering if maybe Oz felt compelled to make small talk now that the Watcher was otherwise occupied.

"Human, huh?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"How'd that happen?  I mean, it's not like you woke up one morning and said, 'make me human today'."

"Well, funny that, that's sort of how it happened…"

"Yes, Spike, please do enlighten us as to how this has come about," Giles interrupted as he rejoined the two men.  Before he continued, he leaned up against a bookcase for support and crossed his arms over his chest.  "Do explain how a vampire suddenly becomes a human."

"Well," Spike started hesitantly, looking at Oz and silently pleading with him to comprehend the fact that he really needed to talk this out with Giles...alone.

After a few moments of silence, Oz shook his head and left his perch by the windows.  "Uh, Giles?  I think I'm gonna head to the club.  Unless you need me to help close up."  On one hand, he really wanted to know what happened to Spike but on the other hand he figured Giles would tell him afterwards so either way, he'd know.  May as well leave and get ready for the gig tonight.

Giles stared at Spike while he answered Oz.  "Normally I would require Spike to reply with you present, but I can somewhat understand his tentativeness to speak.  We'll close the shop and then you can head to the club while Spike and I head to my flat."

Spike nodded his appreciation to the Watcher.  He wanted to tell Giles everything, including his most heinous act, but he wouldn't dare do that in front of an audience.  He couldn't.  "Right.  I'll just go to the Watcher's place."  And to his death, he thought silently.  Maybe having the wolf stay around wasn't such a bad idea after all.  No.  He had to do this one on one.  Giles deserved to know.

"Sounds good," Oz stated as he grabbed his jacket before he could be shooed out of the shop by a scowling, and rather confused looking, Watcher and a now human vampire.  He had believed that weird stuff only really happened on the Hellmouth, but now he had been proven wrong.  Sure, England had its share of the mystical but not quite like Sunnydale.  As he slipped on his jacket, he turned to Spike with a worried expression.  "You won't say anything..."

"I won't say a bleeding word.  I promise," Spike assured Oz in a serious tone.  "She won't hear it from me."

Oz nodded.  "Thanks."

"I uh, I would appreciate if you didn't let anyone know I was here either.  Not that you would but..."

"I get it.  Sure," Oz answered on his way to the door.  He paused for a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob.  "If you're interested, the guys and I are playing at the club tonight.  If Giles doesn't chain you to the wall, you're welcome to come check us out."

"Thanks but I think I'm going to have to take a rain check on that.  Watcher and I have a lot to talk about."

"Not a problem.  Offer still stands if you get a chance.  You just may need that rain check," he added with a frown as he looked up into the sky.  "Looks like there's a storm coming."  With that he walked out the door and into the alley.

"You have no idea, mate," Spike whispered to himself as he ran his hand through his hair, bracing himself for the thousand questions he was sure were to come.

As soon as Oz was out of the building, Giles hurried to the door and turned over the sign to say 'closed'.  Removing his jacket from the coat-stand and grabbing his umbrella, just in case, he held open the door and looked at Spike.  "Come along, Spike.  I have an important meeting tonight at the Council that I don't wish to miss.  You can tell me everything while we drive back to the flat."

"Drive?  You're going to drive in this traffic?  Are you daft?  The Underground not good enough for you?"

"Spike, for as much as I would like to slug you for that comment, I will refrain.  Now, get your bag and follow me," he stated gruffly.  After a slight pause he then added awkwardly, "I'm not driving; I'm hailing a taxi."

Without another word, Spike grabbed his things and headed out the door.  Best that he didn't press his luck now.  He'd come too far for that.  As he exited the alley – followed closely by a very perplexed, and somewhat annoyed Giles – he took note that a storm was indeed brewing, in more ways than one.


	5. Hurricane Ripper

**Author:**  PSUbrat  
**Rating:**  PG-13 Some language and violence  
**Disclaimer and spoiler warning:**  All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to...I'm just borrowing them for a while.  This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset.   
**Summary:**  As Mother Nature lashes out, Spike weathers a storm of a different kind at Giles' place...  
**Timeframe:**  Immediately following "Impending Storm"

Chapter 4 – HURRICANE RIPPER

The ride back to Giles' flat took a considerable amount of time due to the heavy volume of London traffic.  It was a normal every day occurrence to the rest of the city but for Spike it felt like a rat race with no end.  If this was what it was like to be among the living again, he would gladly trade it all to go back to the shadows of the night.  It was just too overwhelming.  He couldn't understand why Giles just didn't take the Tube into the city – would have been less hassle than hailing a taxi, and a lot less emotionally crushing for him.  However, in a way, he was grateful that it was a long trip.  It gave him the time to explain what had happened to him in Africa; not that he really understood it all himself, but he hoped that talking about it to someone who was well versed in demons would give him a better perspective.

"You mean to tell me that some demon just granted your request?  Just like that?"  Giles demanded, loudly at first, but then in more hushed tones as the taxi driver turned on the wiper blades.  The sky had started to cloud over when they left the shop, and now the rain was pouring down.

"Well, I didn't just walk into the cave and ask him to make me human if that's what you want to know," Spike snarked.  "I bloody well had to work for it, I did.  Fire and brimstone, a couple of Hollera demons to boot.  's not like I had much of a choice once things got started.  It was a kill-or-be-killed type scenario."

Giles turned his head to stare at the former blond vampire seated next to him.  He wondered what would ever make such a selfish, blood-thirsty fiend decide to shed his demon and return to the land of the living.  He had never heard of such a thing in all his time at the Council.  Ever.  It was most definitely unprecedented.  "Let me get this straight," he started, still trying to wrap his mind around everything that Spike was telling him, "You traveled to Africa to ask a demon to make you human?"

"Sorta, yeah."

 "But before he granted that request you had to fight to the death?"

"Correct."

"You survived the trials and as a result, you're now human?"

"It definitely wasn't as easy as you make it sound, but yeah, that about sums it up.  Oh, 'cept for one small thing..."

"And that is?"

"I didn't go there to ask him to make me human."

"What?  Spike you're not making any sense, not that you ever did before..."

Taking a deep breath, Spike let the words tumble quickly from his lips.  "I asked him to return my soul."

Giles frowned in response, not understanding what it was that Spike was telling him.  "I don't think I follow.  Did I miss something along the way?"

"No...Well, yeah.  I went to Africa to get my soul back, not to become human."

"Then, how?"  Giles asked incredulously, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice an octave or two below yelling.  The last thing they needed was for the driver to think them insane and take a detour to the nearest asylum.  He sighed and lowered his voice before he continued.  "If you asked for your soul, how did you become human?"

"Funny story, that," Spike replied, turning his head to look out the window at the rain instead of at Giles.  His stomach began to churn, knowing that he would have to soon tell the Watcher everything.  "Seems I already had a soul."

Giles sat back in his seat, his mouth agape for the second time that day.  He was absolutely stunned.  "I-I don't know what to say to that, Spike.  How?"

"Dunno how exactly," Spike replied, giving Giles a sideways glance to see the man's reaction.  Yep, the Watcher was just as stunned as he had been when he'd found out the truth. So much for Giles having all the answers.  With a sigh he continued on.  "The elders couldn't or wouldn't explain it.  Said it would be revealed in time, not sure whose time they're referring to though."

Several moments of silence passed before either man spoke again.

"Well?"  Spike asked with a frown.  "What do you make of it?"

"Spike, you'll have to forgive me for being at a loss for words, again, but you must understand that this is highly unusual."

"You think?  I was under the impression that it was an everyday occurrence for vampires to go on a quest for their souls."  He couldn't help himself.  It was as if he and Giles had never left Sunnydale – he just felt like he had to be the snarky Big Bad again.  "I'm sorry.  I don't know why I said that.  I guess I'm tired...that I'm having a hard time figuring out who I am.  I'm not Spike anymore, haven't been really for a long while now, and I'm certainly not that poofter William.  I don't know who I am."

"Understandable under the circumstances," Giles replied as he sat further back in his seat, already stunned from the soul revelation, but now equally stunned that Spike had apologized for being rude.  This certainly wasn't the same being that he knew from the Watcher Journals or from their time spent together in Sunnydale.  Spike was right, this was someone else entirely.  How had he missed the tell-tale signs of Spike's transformation?  All one had to do was look into Spike's eyes and see the difference.  There was a spark there that hadn't been there before, except for maybe when he had looked at Buffy.

Spike held his face in his hands and took a deep breath; letting it out in a long, slow sigh and then ran his hands through his hair.  "I'm sure you have a million questions..."

"That I do.  Perhaps they would be better off asked in private," Giles stated in quiet tones as he gave the driver a sideways glance.

"Right.  We'll just chat about the weather then, shall we?"

"I could update you on how things are going in Sunnydale, and what Buffy's been..." Giles started, but then stopped when Spike visibly flinched at the mention of the Slayer's name.  "Is everything alright then?"

Spike frowned at the question.  "You mean aside from the fact that I now breathe and have a heartbeat?"  He'd done it again.  The snark.  "I guess that was a bit uncalled for as well.  I can't seem to help it though," he said with a wry grin.  "You must bring out the worst in me."

"Spike there's no need to apologize for who you are, although it is a bit disconcerting to say the least – the apologizing.  As for bringing out the worst in you, I think that you're just on your guard because of our past history together.  It's not that surprising.  Just try to relax.  I'm not going to stake you."  After a few seconds pause he added, "Yet."

"Right then," Spike replied with a smile to match that of the Watcher's.  "We'll pick this up when we get to the flat."

"Which is a bit closer than you think," Giles stated as the taxi came to a slow stop outside of his building.  After paying the driver, both he and Spike exited the car and ran to the foyer to avoid being drenched.

* * *

Once inside the building, Giles headed to the porter's desk to retrieve his messages and post, while Spike stood off to the side examining the architectural beauty of the lobby.  Slowly he ran his hands over the smooth woodwork that had been carved many years ago.  Dark mahogany wood accentuated the cream colored walls, while great staircases angled off to the left and right of the atrium.  It was absolutely stunning.  The craftsmanship reminded him of happier times.  Maybe after his talk with Giles and a good night's sleep, he would try to find the house he grew up in, if it still stood, and if he was still alive.  Perhaps that would allow him time to properly grieve for the life he once had.  He'd never been able to do that, not really, not with Drusilla and the other two around constantly.

"Spike?"

"Huh?"  He asked, turning around to meet Giles' gaze.

"Spike, I've been trying to get your attention for several minutes now.  Are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah.  Fine.  Taking a trip down memory lane.  Sorry."

Giles frowned.  Something was obviously troubling Spike, though he couldn't imagine what it might be since so much had happened to the man in the last few weeks.  "Shall we head to the flat?"

Before the two could move towards the lift the young woman that Spike had met earlier interrupted them.

"Excuse me, Mr. Giles, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Spike watched in amusement as Giles rolled his eyes and tried to maintain his composure.  It reminded him of the times back home whenever Anya would speak her mind or Buffy would do something completely against her Slayer training.  Back home.  It would never be home again.  Not in this lifetime or any thereafter.  And Her. Again.  He would never escape his thoughts of her.  She would torment him until the end of time.  From somewhere in the fog of his mind he heard Giles clear his throat.

"William?"

Slowly, as if swimming back to the surface of the ocean with leg weights, Spike returned his attention to the Watcher and the young woman with him.  "Sorry, what?"

"William, I was introducing you to Bronwyn.  Bronwyn, this is my friend William.  William this is Bronwyn Ashcroft – she works here part time while she's attending Academy."

"Please to meet you, William," Bronwyn said with a radiant smile.  "Will you be staying with Mr. Giles while you're in town?"

Spike looked from Bronwyn to Giles and raised his eyebrows silently asking the same question.

"William will be spending a few days with me, yes."

"Wonderful!" She exclaimed, enthusiastically.  "If there's anything you need while Mr. Giles is out please just let me know.  I would be more than happy to assist you."

"Yes, Bronwyn, I'm sure you would," Giles replied curtly, before Spike could answer.  "Isn't there some studying you need to attend to?  I believe that there's an upcoming exam in Professor Steele's class, is there not?"

"I'd almost forgotten in all the excitement.  Thank you for reminding me, Mr. Giles.  It was nice meeting you, William.  I'm sure we'll be seeing quite a bit of each other in the next few days."

"Uh, sure," Spike replied hesitantly, but then added with a slight smile, "It was nice meeting you too, Bronwyn."

The young woman walked backwards for a bit, smiling and waving, then turned abruptly when the phone began to ring.  As soon as she answered the call, she immediately snapped back into her business like manner.  Giles took this as their cue to continue to his flat.

* * *

Once the lift doors opened onto the third floor, Giles gestured for Spike to exit first.  Immediately, he took notice that Spike had grown pale and looked as if he were about to pass out.  Before he could take two steps forward Spike slumped to the floor unconscious.  Quickly, Giles hit the stop button on the lift and dropped to his knees beside Spike to look for a pulse.  Upon finding one, he breathed a sigh of relief.  He may not have liked the vampire much, but he certainly didn't wish the man ill.  Now there was just the matter of moving him to the flat.

Off to the left a door opened and a man stepped out.

"Robson!  Help me get him to my place."

"What happened?"  Robson asked, leaning down and lifting Spike's knees as Giles lifted the unconscious man's upper body.

"He passed out."

"I can see that.  Did you hit him?"

"No!"  Giles exclaimed, somewhat shocked by the question.  "Why would you think that?"

"Just a question, Rupert.  Don't get upset.  After all, you are known to possess a fiery temper."

"If I had hit him I certainly wouldn't be asking you to help me carry him to my flat, now would I?"

"No I suppose not," Robson replied with some thought.  "Did you try waking him up?"

"Several times, but he's out cold.  Set him down while I unlock the door."

Robson did as he was asked, waiting patiently for Giles to get the door to his flat open so that they could carry the blond inside.  There was something a bit familiar about the man but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.  The question would have to wait, however, while he helped Giles get him to the couch.

"Thank you, Robson.  I wasn't sure how I was going to get him inside."

"I'm sure you would have managed.  Friend of yours?"

Giles carefully thought out his reply so as to not arouse any suspicion on the other Watcher's part.  "An old acquaintance from my Sunnydale days."

"Really?  Interesting."

"Interesting?  How?" Giles asked, starting to become alarmed by the comment.

"Well, if you ask me, he looks an awful lot like that vampire, 'William the Bloody', that we've heard so much about.  Obviously it can't be though, it's still daylight and such.  Even if it's storming out."

"Yes, obviously," Giles replied as a bolt of lightening lit up the darkened room for a moment, followed closely by a loud clap of thunder.  Both men turned towards the window, watching the rain come down harder than before, if that was possible.

After a slight pause, Robson continued with his original thought.  "When you said you knew him from your time spent in Sunnydale, I just thought maybe..."

Giles forced a laugh as lightening briefly lit up the room again.  "Right.  I would just bring a blood-thirsty vampire into my home for the fun of it."

"Sorry, Rupert.  Didn't mean it that way.  You do have to admit, the man looks quite a bit like him."

"Indeed."

"Well, I must be going.  I have to pick up Nora at Lydia's place.  Lydia was training her on some new moves today."

"Right.  Thank you for your help," Giles replied as he maneuvered Robson to the door.

"Sure thing.  I hope your friend feels better.  Might want to get Doc to look at him though.  He looks a bit wan."

Giles ushered him into the hall before replying.  "Will do.  Thank you again."  With a wave he closed the door on the curious Watcher and locked it behind him.

* * *

Giles turned back to his guest on the couch who was showing signs of stirring.  Hurriedly he crossed the lounge room to his kitchen, where he grabbed a clean glass and filled it with chilled water from the refrigerator.  It seemed best to start with a cool liquid, wasn't that what his father had always taught him about someone who'd passed out?  Well, to hell with first aid at the moment, it was time he got answers.  Turning on the lamp by the couch, he looked down as Spike groaned and twitched.  Instead of trying to get Spike to sit up and drink the water, he threw it in his face.

"Bloody hell, Watcher!  What was that for?"  Spike sat up quickly, grabbing his head as he did so.  He felt dizzy and a bit nauseous. 

"Spike, when was the last time you ate?"

"What?"

"Food, Spike.  When was the last time you ate a meal?"

"I, I uh, don't remember.  Hasn't been all that important to me..."

"Spike, unlike a vampire a human cannot go days without eating.  Think.  When did you last eat?"

"I guess before I left to come here.  Maybe a day or two..."

Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.  Seemingly, he'd have to teach the former Big Bad how to be human again.  "How you have survived the last three weeks is beyond me.  It's quite obvious that you cannot take care of yourself."

"I can take of myself just fine!"

"Really?  Then why are you passing out from starvation?  Honestly, Spike, you'd think someone of your age would be a bit more aware of your body's needs."

"I'm not a bleedin' tot if that's what you're saying!"

"No, Spike, a child would at least know when it was hungry."

Spike stood quickly, wobbled a little and then fell back to the couch.  "Bloody hell!"  He growled, bringing his hands up to cover his face as another flash of lightening illuminated the lounge room.  Thunder roared overhead a few seconds later.  "Sounds like the world is splitting apart.  Just like my head."

"Here," Giles prodded as he returned from the kitchen with a plate of crackers and some cheese.  "I want you to eat these and drink this water, slowly.  Once you've finished we'll see about getting you a proper dinner."

"You don't have to do this..."

"I know.  But I'll not sit by and watch you waste away to nothing before I can tell Buffy that you're human."

"You can never tell her," Spike hissed, standing up quickly and grabbing Giles' arm, crackers and cheese flying in several different directions.  "Ever.  Do you understand me?"

"I suggest you remove your hand from my arm and sit back down," Giles stated in his best menacing tone as he glared at Spike.  He relaxed a little as Spike did as was demanded and sat back down.  "Whatever your reasons for not wanting Buffy to know about this transformation..."

"She can just never be told, is all."

"And why is that, Spike?  What is it you're not telling me?"

Slowly, Spike stood back up and took a deep breath to steady himself.  This was it.  Judgment Day...  As much as he dreaded what was to come next, he knew that if he didn't come clean, tell Giles everything, it would come back to haunt him in the end.  That wasn't how he wanted to start his life over.  Not like that.

Giles watched closely as Spike weighed his options, the sickly pallor returning, draining away what color had returned to his cheeks.  "Spike, do sit back down.  You don't look well."

Spike shook his head in response.  "I can't do that.  What I have to say should be said standing up, looking you in the eyes."

"I'm sure whatever it is that's bothering you can be..."

"Stop.  Just stop, all right?  Listen to me.  What I'm about to tell you, you're going to want to rip my head off and pull out my spine, probably use it to beat me with after.  And I don't blame you one bit if you do, because I certainly deserve it." 

"Spike..."

"I know, I know," he replied quickly, holding up his hands to stop any more interruptions that might come from the Watcher.  "Look, I've done something... something that I'm not proud of, something that if I had the chance to take back, I would in an instant.  But life's not like that, is it?  There aren't take backs.  I can't take back the life of every victim I killed, and I can't take back what I did...to her."  The last part came out almost in a whisper.

Giles frowned as something began to gnaw at his mind.  Something bad.  "Her who, Spike?"

The tears started to well in his eyes, creating the illusion of giant blue pools that were ready to spill over at any second.  Not now!  Not in the middle.  At the end, maybe, but not now.  Just a few more words, a couple of sentences to go and then he could let the tears flow, but not now.  Not yet.

"Spike," Giles growled, his fists clenching at his sides.  "What did you do?"

"Before...Before I left Sunnydale to get my soul back...I-I tried..." He choked.  The words didn't want to come out.  Looking at Giles pleadingly, he tried to explain.  "I just wanted her to love me back..."

Giles grabbed Spike's shoulders and began shaking him, his entire demeanor changing as Ripper came to the fore.  "You son of a bitch!!  What did you do?!?"

"I-I..."

"Spike, god damnit!  What did you do to Buffy?"

"I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I-I tried to show her...but it didn't....  God help me, I tried to rape Buffy."  His words came out in a horrible sob as another clap of thunder roared overhead, shaking the windows and temporarily dimming the lights.  So, the truth was finally out.  He had said it.  He had finally admitted it to someone other than himself.  He felt Giles release him, and he slowly slumped to the floor, the tears flowing as the sobs came in fast and furious hitches.  It was over.  Finally.  But not before Giles' fist struck his jaw.


	6. Inside the Maelstrom

**Author:**  PSUbrat  
**Rating:**  PG-13 Some language and violence  
**Disclaimer and spoiler warning:**  All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to...I'm just borrowing them for a while.  This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset.   
**Website:**    
**Update List:**   
**Summary:**  Spike's revelation spins Giles out of control...  
**Timeframe:**  Immediately following "Hurricane Ripper"

CHAPTER 5 – INSIDE THE MAELSTROM

The fist struck Spike's jaw with such tremendous force that he felt like he was thrown across the room even though he never left his knees.  It was time.  This was his punishment for what he had done to her.  He slumped further down to the floor in a heap of clothing and flesh.  Even when he heard Giles' footsteps come closer, he didn't flinch or try to flee, he just laid there waiting for the inevitable second blow to come.  And it did.  He grunted in response as Giles' foot connected with his mid section.  The pain was like the lightening that still lit up the room, blinding and harsh.

"You son of a bitch!" Giles yelled a second time as his right foot connected with Spike's ribcage.  He heard something crack but it didn't deter him from his duty to his Slayer, to his daughter.  "How dare you, you filthy monster!  You had no right!  She wasn't yours!  You bastard!"  Each sentence was punctuated with a blunt kick to Spike's side or face.

Spike continued to lay on the floor, writhing in pain, the only sound that managed to escape from his lips was the mangled cry of 'sorry'.  If Giles had heard it, it didn't stop him from doling out the sentence.  It was okay.  He deserved every kick, every punch, everything that was coming his way.  What he did, to her, was unforgivable.

"Get up," Giles demanded in even tones as he backed away from Spike's limp body.

Slowly, Spike looked up through the veil of blood that was now covering his swollen eyes.  The coppery taste of it filled his mouth from his busted lips.  It was a taste that he would have savored when he was a vampire but now it only reminded him of his mortality.  It was funny how being mortal now made the pain even more intense than before, even if it was just in his mind.  But it was still pain...his pain.  Oh yes, Giles was beating him right proper.

"I said get up!"

"I'm trying," Spike said hoarsely as he pulled himself to his knees.  He was already weak prior to the blows but now he wasn't sure if he had it in him to stand.  It didn't stop him from trying though, trying to take this like a man.  But it wasn't enough for Giles – he moved too slowly for the Watcher's liking.  Before he knew it, Giles had him by the shirt collar and was dragging him to his feet, his sides screaming in protest.

"I told you to get up!"  Giles growled as he slammed Spike's broken body up against the wall between the windows.  Something had snapped in him, like a lion protecting its young; he needed to kill this thing in front of him, this thing that had hurt his child.  "You think you know what pain is?  Do you?  You've never met Ripper before and believe me, I'm a hell of a lot worse than any demon or Slayer you'll ever face."

The even tone of Giles' voice was enough to strike fear into Spike's being.  "I have no doubt about that," he croaked in response.  That seemed to only further antagonize the Watcher, incurring more of Ripper's wrath.  More punches to the face immediately followed, each delivered with more strength and more painful than the last.  He wasn't sure, but it may have been the third one, maybe the fourth, when the security blanket of nothingness began to gradually cover him, dulling the pain.

Giles immediately recognized that Spike was hanging on to consciousness by a thread, and instead of hitting him again, he let him drop to the floor.  Slowly he leaned over him, bringing his face within inches of Spike's.  "I'm not through with you yet," he hissed.  "But I'll not have you passing out when I've only just begun to hurt you."

Anger began to build within Spike.  He had come here, searched out this person in particular, why?  Other than hoping for answers, he needed Giles to do exactly what it was that he, himself, couldn't do – physically.  But now, now that Giles was doing what he had hoped for; something inside of him began to yell out in protest of it all.  This was all wrong.  "If you're going to kill me, do it and get it over with."  He growled through the pain.  "I'm not some bloody punching bag for your warped amusement.  Just get it done and over."

"Don't you dare tell me what I should do to you," Giles roared in reply.  "You're lucky you're still alive at this point..."

"Lucky?  You think this is luck?  Are you daft?"

"Shut your mouth, Spike!"

"Or what?  You'll shut it for me?  Please do.  That's why I came here.  I expected you to kill me, not torture me for your pleasure.  Who was the demon in this room anyway?"

Giles kicked Spike's side with as much force as he could muster.  Another satisfying crunch of bones snapping like dried twigs filled the air.  He smirked as Spike howled out in pain.  "You were the demon, you filthy ponce.  I should have killed you as soon as I first laid eyes on you.  You've been nothing but trouble to Buffy, to me, to the world."

Before Giles could administer yet another grueling kick to Spike's side, Spike reached out and grabbed the older man's ankle, halting the punishment.  Despite the pain, he refused to let go even as Giles tried to wriggle free.  Slowly, and determinedly, he pulled himself up to his knees, his gaze never leaving that of the Watcher's.  "I may have almost done the unspeakable to her, but that gives you no right to do this.  Either kill me or beat me well and true, but don't you dare keep me hangin' around just to satisfy some sick inner need to lose control.  I may have been a whippin' boy once, but I'll not be again.  So do it, now, one way or the other."

"Let go of me, Spike, before I strangle the life out of you."  He lunged for Spike's neck but found himself just short of his mark.  Now Spike was standing and had hold of his arms.  How had he moved so fast?  He wasn't a vampire anymore...

"Like you did to that Ben fellow?"  He paused as he let his words sink into Giles' head.  "Yeah, that's right.  Know all about that.  Saw it when no one else did.  So I know what you're capable of, killing humans.  Why else do you think I came here?"

"Why did you come here, Spike?  What did you expect me to do?"

"Mostly I came for answers, but seeing as how you didn't have any I expected you to kill me, outright and proper after my confession.  None of this dilly-dallying around.  But I think I've changed my mind.  I've decided that I want to live, so this little thing here, between you and me...it's over.  You've had your say."

"You must be joking," Giles replied, incredulity creeping into his voice.

"This is no joke, Watcher.  I'm not your soddin' punching bag.  Got it?"

"I will not have you talking to me like…"

"And I will not have you beating me for pleasure," Spike roared as he brought his face just centimeters from Giles'.  "Where's your humanity?"

Giles' reacted physically before his brain could catch up verbally.  It was instinctual, fast, done without any type of conscious thought, and his fist should have connected with Spike's face instantly.  But it didn't.  Instead of fist meeting jaw, his fist met with Spike's hand.  While his mind was trying to process Spike's amazingly quick reflexes, he suddenly felt himself airborne – the result of being on the receiving end of an incredible blow to the abdomen.

* * *

"Bloody hell!" Spike bellowed, grabbing his head as Giles' back met with the side of the sofa.  Lightening flashed through the flat as he writhed in pain, not from the blows he had received, but from the chip that was obviously still present and active in his brain.  "Make it stop!"  He wasn't sure if the brilliant flashes of light he was seeing were caused by the chip or from the storm.  Either way, it was blinding…and excruciatingly painful.  He dropped to his knees and then curled himself into a fetal position, hands on either side of his head and eyes tightly screwed shut, praying for relief.

Giles sat in a heap next to the sofa, blinking rapidly, trying to catch his breath.  It took him a few moments to wrap his mind around what was happening.  "Spike?"  He asked tentatively as his mind began to clear.  "Are you alright?"

"Soddin' hell, Watcher!  What do you think?" He managed to snark as the lightening flashed again and his brain continued to explode.  "Arrrhhhh!"

"Spike," Giles said again, pushing himself up from the floor, one hand instinctively going over his sore abdomen and the other out to his side as he tried to steady himself.  "What's wrong?"

"Head's exploding!"  Spike gasped through the pain, pausing between each word as new waves of pain enveloped him.

"Is…is it the chip?"  Giles questioned, already knowing the answer before he continued.  "Is it still there?"

Spike groaned.  Sometimes Giles could be such a stupid git!  "Bloody hell, man!"

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Giles stated as he reached Spike's side and gingerly bent down to examine him.  "Take a deep breath and explain to me, slowly, what's going on."

"Chip.  In my head.  Exploding!"

"Yes, I sort of gathered that, Spike.  But is it a constant voltage or just intermittent?"

Taking deep breaths, Spike slowly opened his eyes and scowled at the Watcher.  "Does it make a difference?"  he demanded, as another wave of pain shook his body.  "Arrrrhhh!!"

"Spike, look at me," Giles demanded.  "The chip shouldn't be going off since you're not trying to harm me at the moment…"

"Tell this soddin' piece of metal that!"

"Alright, do try to calm down."  Suddenly a thought crossed Giles' mind.  "Spike, I need you to answer this truthfully…are you thinking about doing me harm?"

"Watcher, if you don't shut your trap and find out how to fix this I will strangle you!  Arrhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!"  The pain became more intense.  If this kept up, he was sure he would be dead by the end of the hour.

"Just what I suspected.  Spike, listen to me, you have to calm down."

Spike scowled again as he gripped his head in his hands.  The white light was being replaced by multi-colored splashes.  Oh yeah…definitely dead within the hour.  "Calm?  You want me calm?  How in bloody hell…?!?"

Giles knew he had to work fast.  There was no telling what kind of damage that chip was doing to Spike's now human brain.  "Spike, please, listen to me.  Concentrate on my voice…"

"Arrrhhhhh!!!"

"Or maybe not…" Giles said wincing.  "I want you to think of something comforting, without the violence.  I know it will be difficult but you must try."

"You…want me…to concentrate on…hugs and puppies…or something?  You're out of your bleeding mind!  Arrrrhhhhh!!!"  The pain was getting worse; he could almost feel the chip in his brain, melting the tissue around it.  After everything he'd done, come all this way, this was how he was going to go out – killed by some stupid, sodding government piece of crap.  The Fates really weren't kind, not in the least.

Giles knelt down next to Spike and tried to put a comforting hand on the pained man's shoulder.  It felt odd and somewhat familiar at the same time.  "Spike, please…" he stopped as Spike's body spasmed again.  He had to do something or Spike was going to die, and as much as he thought he wanted that earlier, he didn't want to see him suffering so, no one deserved that.  "Spike," he demanded.  "Listen to me.  Buffy and Dawn, they're doing really well at the moment.  They're living at Xander's…"

"At the whelp's?  Why?  Arrrhhhh!"

"Alright then, maybe not the best thing to say…"

"You think?"

"They're living at Xander's because Warren destroyed the front of the Summers' home.  Xander's not there.  He and Willow are currently in the hospital."

"What?  Why?"  Spike asked, trying to focus on the sound of Giles' voice so that he could think.

"Warren stabbed Willow, and Xander was gored by a Toth demon.  It was all very messy.  Willow will heal just fine, but Xander, well, he's in a coma.  The doctors aren't giving him much hope I'm afraid.  In fact, I expect a call from either Dawn or Tara any moment now for their daily update."

"You're serious?"

"I am," Giles replied gravely, as visions of the battle between them and Warren passed through his mind.  "It was, not easy."

"I'm sorry," Spike said with a sigh.  "I should have been there.  Should have helped."

"It was probably best that you weren't.  You certainly wouldn't be human right now if you had been there.  We managed."

"But at a price," Spike replied, finishing the thought that he was sure Giles had going through his mind.  "You said Dawn and Buffy are okay though?"

His idea was working.  He could see the pain receding from Spike's face as they continued to talk.  Best to keep him focused on Dawn.  "Yes, quite.  Actually, Dawn is a little more than alright."  

Spike looked up at Giles from his position on the floor, eyes large and wondering.  "What do you mean 'more than alright'?"  He struggled to sit up so that he could continue the conversation from a more normal perspective.

"Well you see," Giles started as he helped Spike into a sitting position, guilt beginning to tug at him for causing so much damage to the man.  "She seems to be experiencing some Slayer-like qualities."

"What?"  Spike asked, quirking an eyebrow.  His little Niblet a Slayer?  No.  She was much too sweet and innocent for that.

"The monks did make her from Buffy's blood and she was the Key.  We have no idea what powers she has or what more she might get."

"Bloody well take them away then!" Spike shouted as he tried to get up from the floor.  His limbs were much too weak to cooperate and he slid the length of the wall back to a sitting position.

Giles put Spike's arm around his shoulders and his own around Spike's back, as he gently helped him over to the couch.  "Try not to get too excited, Spike," he said as he tried to help make Spike as comfortable as possible.  "You're still weak.  Besides, we cannot take back Dawn's powers.  I'm afraid that her capabilities are only just beginning."

"I guess she's not going to need me to protect her anymore then," Spike added with a sigh.  Why did she have to grow up so fast?

"On the contrary, I believe she's going to need us now more than ever.  She's at a difficult time of life as it is, being a teenager.  Trying to fit in, to be normal.  That's not going to happen now."

"But Buffy did alright…"

"No, she didn't.  When you were around the first time, all you saw was the Slayer.  You weren't around when she struggled with it all, wishing all the while that she were a normal teenaged girl.  I expect that Dawn will probably go through much of the same."

"Not so sure about that, mate," Spike responded as he rubbed his temples.  The pain was starting to subside, as was the storm.  "Dawn has always wanted to be someone special.  Living in big sis's shadow hasn't been easy for her."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Giles said with a sigh.  "How is your head?"

"Feel like a Polgara demon just skewered my brain and is slowly trying to rip it out of my skull."

Giles winced at the description.  "Let me get you an ice pack.  Perhaps it might help."

"Whatever," Spike replied as he took the bag of ice from Giles when he returned to the lounge room.  "I don't think anything's going to help with this, short of beheading me.  And no smart comebacks from the peanut gallery are required."

"Right.  Spike, you cannot continue to live with this thing in your head.  It most assuredly will kill you."

"You think?"  Spike snarked, placing the cold pack on his forehead.  Nothing like having the Watcher state the obvious.

Giles took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose.  "I'm just trying to be helpful…"

"I'm sorry.  It's just that…I can't believe the demon didn't remove the chip when he made me all living like.  It was the least he could have done."

"Yes, and making you human was no large feat at all.  Spike, what exactly did you ask from the demon?"

Spike closed his eyes as he tried to recall those specific memories.  "I asked him to make me what I was, to give Buffy what she deserves.  So I guess he made me human 'cause I wasn't exactly specific about the 'make me what I was part' and then he left the chip in my head to 'give Buffy what she deserves'."

"How so?"  Giles questioned with a frown, not understanding Spike's line of thinking.

"Well, think about it Watcher.  This is my punishment for what I tired to do to her."

"No," Giles responded, slowly shaking his head.  "I don't think that's true.  Spike, there's more to you than meets the eye.  Don't interrupt me right now," he said holding up his hand as Spike began to question what he meant.  "You have reflexes that only two others in this world possess: vampires and Slayers.  You're no longer a vampire.  You're human – with a chip in your head – but nonetheless a human."

"What are you trying to say, Watcher?  Spit it out already.  My brain's been fried and I'm not capable of higher level thinking at the moment."

"Right.  Well, I'm not quite sure of my theory yet.  We would have to test it further, but until we get that chip out of your head we're not going to be able to do that."

"There's an awful lot of 'we's' in that sentence.  Does that mean you're going to help me?

"As much as it pains me to say this, yes, I will help you."

Spike smiled weakly.  "Right then.  How do your propose we get this hunk of metal out of my brain – without killing me?"

"Very good question, but I have an idea."

"As long as it doesn't involve your Council buddies, I'm all for it."

"Right," Giles replied softly as he stood up and made his way to the phone by the chair, never looking back at Spike.  "I'm just going to make a phone call to a friend."


	7. The Other Side of Paradise

**_Author:_**_  PSUbrat  
_**_Rating:_**_  PG-13 Some language and violence  
_**_Disclaimer and spoiler warning:_**_  All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to...I'm just borrowing them for a while.  This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset.   
_**_Website:_**_    
_**_Update List:_**_   
_**_Summary:_**_  Giles seeks assistance from an unlikely source to remove the chip from Spike's brain....  
_**Timeframe:**  Immediately following "Inside the Maelstrom"

CHAPTER 6 – THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE 

Spike sat quietly on the couch with the ice pack to his forehead, eyes closed; hoping that whomever Giles was calling would be able to help him.  There was no way he could continue with life as a human if he still had this government chip in his head.  How was he supposed to defend himself against those who wanted to kill him?  Not that he was going to go looking for trouble, but he knew himself well enough to realize that trouble always seemed to find him – no matter what.  It had to be his magnetic personality.  The thought brought a smile to his lips, which immediately brought more pain.  For a second there, he'd forgotten about the wounds that Giles had inflicted while punishing him for his transgression towards Buffy.  Slowly, he began to assess the damage to his body.  There were definitely a few broken ribs, maybe a couple of cracked ones as well, and he was pretty sure his nose was broken too.  Ah, well, par for the course.  He deserved every bit.

"Spike?"  Giles asked as he stood hesitantly next to the couch.  He had done more harm to the former vampire than he had realized.  Guilt swept through him again.

"Yeah?" Spike replied quietly.

"Is-Is there anything I can get you?"

"Water," he stated, and then after a second added, "Please."

Giles went to the kitchen, returning shortly with more ice and a cold glass of water.  "Why don't you let me have a look at those wounds?  They should be taken care of before they become infected."

"The only thing I want fixed is this damn chip in my head.  Who'd you call?"

"Really, Spike," Giles responded, avoiding the question.  "You should let me help.  Infection can be a deadly business for humans."

"I don't care," Spike growled back.  "I just want this chip out of my head.  And don't think I didn't notice you changing the subject.  Who'd you call?"

"A friend."

Spike took the ice pack off his head and turned to cautiously eye the Watcher.  "A friend?  Why doesn't that comfort me any?"

"He'll be here shortly to look you over," Giles stated, once again avoiding Spike's questions.  "He may be able to help with the chip."  If anyone would be able to help Spike, it would be this man – he had a long history in dealing with unknown medical issues.

"Right.  So I'll just sit here like a good little git and wait for your Council member friend to arrive.  Yeah, that's right," Spike said with very little inflection in his voice.  "I heard your little conversation.  I may not be a vampire, but I can still hear."

Giles frowned.  He had kept his voice low while he talked on the phone.  There was no way that a human Spike could have heard anything other than hushed tones.  Unless, of course, he was correct about what Spike had become.  No matter, he'd have to wait until the chip was removed to confirm his thoughts.  For now, he'd have to keep a close eye on him.

"I don't need a bloody babysitter," Spike growled.

"How…?"  Giles asked incredulously.

"You have that look," Spike replied as he tried to bring the glass of water to his cracked lips.  "Don't act like you don't know what I mean.  The one that you usually give Buffy when she's ready to go off guns blazing instead of thinking things through."

"I never knew you paid such close attention to detail."

"You'd be surprised about what I know and how much I've paid attention over the last few years.  I could blackmail all you Scoobies if I wanted to," he stated with a weary sigh.  "But I don't.  It would be wrong and Buffy would…" he trailed off, a far away look on his face.  Snapping out of it almost immediately, he changed the subject.  "So when's this bloke coming?"

"He should be here any minute now," Giles responded as a knock came at the door.  "Right on time, as always…" He walked across the lounge room to the hall, checked who the visitor was through the eyehole and then slowly opened the door to allow the man into his home.  "Please, come in," he said, gesturing the man inside with his hand and making a quick visual sweep of the outside hallway.

"Thank you so much for coming over so quickly.  Before I take you to see him, I must ask for your word that what you see here stays between us."

The elderly gentleman frowned, but nodded his reply.  "As you wish, Rupert.  I take it then, that you would like to keep the Council out of this?"

"For now," Giles replied, taking off his glasses to clean them.  "I need to do some investigating before I involve them."

"Very well then.  Where's the patient?"

"Right through here," Giles answered as he led the way back into the lounge room.  He stopped at the edge of the room, allowing the elderly man to walk inside.

Spike heard the exchange and thought he recognized the voice, despite the hushed tones.  It had a certain familiarity to it but he couldn't quite place it, his thoughts were too muddled.  "I'd get up to greet you properly but I'm a bit indisposed at the moment," he quipped as he turned his head to try to see the person standing next to Giles.  It took a few moments for his eyes to focus due to his injuries, but then recognition set in, horror and dread filled him.  He tried to scramble off the sofa.  What was Giles thinking?

Seeing the look of panic on Spike's face, Giles tried to calm him.  "Spike, it's alright.  He's not who you think."

"Bloody hell, Watcher!"  Spike yelled, cringing in pain as he tripped over his feet in a desperate attempt to stand up and face the visitor.  That man, that thing, was capable of horrid things.  "Have you gone completely mad?"  

"Spike, do calm down, please.  You're just harming yourself more by jumping around…"

"Save it!  You know who he is, right?  You know what he did to Bit.  How…How could you?"  Spike paused, pulling himself together as the anger started to take over.  He lunged for the elderly man, intending to kill him once and for all this time, to finally do what he should have done that night – the night Buffy died because of his inability to fulfill his promise to her, to protect Dawn.  However, before he could cross the room, pain soared through his brain, sending him into convulsions and rendering him unconscious on the floor.

* * *

Spike slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly against the purplish light that swathed the room he was laid up in.  It was probably from the setting sun.  He would have checked the window to confirm this, but the pain in his head throbbed.  For now he'd have to just assume he was right.  Groggily, he tried to sit up, every part of his body screamed out in protest of this action.  He groaned.  This had to be the worst day of his life and he'd know, he'd lived a long time and nothing even came close to this one.  Closing his eyes again, he suddenly remembered the last face he had seen before passing out.

"He's coming around," a voice from the darkness stated in hushed tones.

Spike's eyes snapped open, recognizing the voice in an instant.  "Bloody hell!"  He screamed as he tried to untangle himself from the bed sheets, but a strong, familiar hand held him in place.

"Spike, please lie still.  You've just had major surgery," Giles soothed, pushing the former vampire back against the pillow.

"What?  What did you let that monster do to me?"  Spike growled, clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth against the pain in his head.

"This monster," the voice calmly stated from the darkness, "is not who you think… Besides, I just saved your life.  You may want to thank me."

Confusion spread over Spike's face as he took his eyes off his savior and turned them to Giles.  "Tell me you didn't let him touch me!"

"I did, and he saved your life.  You'd do well to say thank you.  He was the only person capable of removing the chip.  Yes, Spike," Giles began after Spike's eyes widened in surprise.  "After all this time, the chip is finally gone."

Spike furrowed his brow.  "I don't understand…"

"Of course you don't," the man answered, stepping out of the shadows so that Spike could see him clearly.  "Let me introduce myself.  I'm Gerald Granger, but you may call me Doc."

Spike eyed the man's hand warily, checking first with Giles before he continued.  Once Giles nodded, he reached out and shook Doc's hands.  "I'd like a bit of an explanation if you don't mind."

"Certainly.  I have nothing to hide.  Rupert here has explained that you encountered the shape-shifting demon that took on my form in Sunnydale a year ago.  Yes, that was quite an awful experience for me.  Very disturbing...  You see, I traveled to America on behalf of the Council to observe Glorificus and to keep an eye on the Slayer's sister.  Before I knew what had happened, I was attacked and left for dead.  Apparently, the demon took my form and set about taking over my life.  Had the police not found me and taken me to the hospital, I'm afraid, my friend, you'd have been dead before the night was out."

"So that thing that cut Bit and threw me off the tower, it wasn't you, but something that looked like you?"  Spike asked; trying to wrap his mind around all that was being thrown at him.  His chip was gone and the man who had saved him was not the creature that had caused him to fail the Slayer.  Suddenly, he felt like the room was spinning.

"It's all true, Spike.  I've known Gerald since my youth.  He's quite well known in the Council and his reputation is above reproach.  I never ran into the demon that left him for dead until Buffy flung him from the tower.  It was then that I realized what had happened to Gerald.  Up until that point, all that we knew was that he had been attacked and left in a coma.  No one knew why."

"Why didn't you tell any of us?"  Spike asked.  It all made a bit of sense in a wacky kind of way when he thought about it, but thinking made his head hurt more.  He felt like his head was in a vice and someone was turning the screw.

"There was nothing to tell," Giles replied, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.  "There was no reason to go into any explanations.  Buffy was gone, the creature was dead and Glory had been defeated.  Gerald eventually recovered, was released from the hospital and returned to England to continue on with his work for the Council, no one the wiser."

"And what is it that you do for the Council?"  Spike questioned Doc.  He was sure that he had been told all there was to tell about the situation, but something still didn't sit right with him.

Doc studied his patient closely, sensing Spike's distrust.  That was fine.  The feeling was mutual at the moment.  Never in a million years did he think he'd be in the presence of William the Bloody.  It was both fascinating and slightly intimidating.  On one hand, he wanted to sit on the bed and examine the man and on the other hand, he wanted to stay as far away from the former vampire as possible.  He did neither, but smiled instead.  "I do a little of this and a little of that," he finally replied after weighing his response carefully.

"I see," Spike responded, irritation in his voice.  "So in other words, what you do is on a need to know basis and I don't need to know."

Doc's wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin.  "I like him, Rupert.  He has spunk."

Giles snorted.  "Yes, that he definitely does have, and then some."  He stood and nodded his head towards the door to signal for Doc to follow him to the lounge room.  "Spike, I want you to get some rest now.  I have a Council meeting to attend.  Gerald will be staying with you until my return.  Do try to behave yourself."

Spike put his hand to his chest, mouth agape in mock indignation.

Giles rolled his eyes.  "Yes, you…  You may be human now, but you still have your vampire traits – namely your attitude.  Don't act so put out.  You could still be a menace, you know."

"Whatever, Watcher," Spike replied tersely, closing his eyes and settling into a comfortable position.  He could get used to the way the mattress surrounded his body and the way the duvet wrapped around him like a glove.  The pillows were the softest he had ever felt in his life.  Yes, he certainly could get used to being human again if it meant he could sleep this comfortably.  He'd found paradise, or the other side of it anyway.  No more crypts for him, no sir!

"Right," Giles replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  "I won't be long, maybe a couple of hours at the most."  He paused at the door and turned around to take one last look at the man in his guest room.  In that short amount of time, Spike had fallen back to sleep, more than likely out of sheer exhaustion.

* * *

The sun shone brightly over Spike's head as he walked through the sand.  The desert's vastness lay out before him in endless swirls and dunes.  He looked around in confusion.  Wasn't he just in Giles guestroom curled up in the lap of luxury?  What was this place and why was he here?  Holding his hand up to shield his eyes, he squinted to see what, if anything, might be on the horizon.  Nothing caught his eye.  He was alone.  Utterly and completely alone. He sighed, shoulders slumped and head bowed.  He just wanted to be back in that bed again.

It felt as though he had been wandering through the desert for hours, dressed only in faded jeans, yet his feet didn't burn nor was he hot from the sun.  It was all very strange.  "Has to be a dream," he muttered to himself as he continued walking – to where he had no clue.

"Is that what you think, vampire?  That this be nothing but a dream?"

Spike stopped, spun around and squinted his eyes to make sure his mind wasn't deceiving him.  "Zareb?"

"Yes, vampire, it is I," the man responded with a nod.

"Why are you in my dream?"  Spike asked with a frown.

Zareb smiled but said nothing.

"Cat got your tongue, does it?  Don't know why I'd be dreaming 'bout you, mate, but it's still good to see you."  When his friend still said nothing, he began to feel uneasy.  Just then the wind began whipping around him, sending sand into his eyes.  When he brushed the sand away and reopened them, he found himself in the middle of a very large crowd of people, all staring at him, looking sad and weary.

"Who are these people?" Spike whispered to Zareb, an eerie feeling of foreboding settled in his stomach.  He knew who they were; he just wanted confirmation.

"Do you not know those whose deaths you have caused?"  Zareb asked him.

Nausea swept through him and his legs felt like rubber.  He looked around the crowd, trying to avoid eye contact until he looked down and saw a little girl.  She was around the age of four and dressed in a pretty little white skirt set, trimmed in pink lace.  Her brown curly hair had been done up in ponytails.  She was the perfect picture of innocence.   Immediately he recognized her.  She had been among the family he and Dru had killed in Prague, the one that had sparked the mob that had attacked them.

He fell to his knees in front of her.  Hesitantly, he reached out to touch her cheek, noticing at the same time that her eyes were the deepest shade of brown he had ever seen.  She would have been quite beautiful, if she had been allowed to grow up, but now she would never have that opportunity.  Nor would she marry and have children.  She would never know the joy of falling in love.  No, she would never have any of these things, because of him.  He had taken her life.  Him.  His fault.

An overwhelming sense of pain and loss filled him.  Guilt in its purest form.  His arm dropped to his side as he began to weep for her.  The weight of his actions came crashing down on him.  The weeping turned to sobbing as the pain he had caused her and the countless others who surrounded him, washed over him and through him.  It burned him from within, his very being felt as if it were on fire.

The little girl stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Spike, leaning her head on his as his body shook with each new sob.

One by one, each victim walked up to Spike to touch him, to allow him the understanding that he was being forgiven.

"William," a soft, feminine voice spoke.  "William, open your eyes, dear."

Spike did as he was told, not because he had been ordered to do so, but because he recognized the voice.  "Mother?"  He choked out.  He felt as if he might hyperventilate in her presence.

"Yes, William, it's me."  She opened her arms, beckoning him to her.

He ran to her, stumbling as he went.  When he reached her, he threw himself into her embrace.  "Mother," he gasped.  "I'm so sorry.  I'm so very sorry."

"I know, dear, I know," she soothed.  "All's forgiven, my son."

"No!  You mustn't forgive me!  None of you should!"  He cried.  "What I did, it's…unforgivable."

"Shhh," she said, rubbing his back and planting a kiss on his forehead in a motherly fashion.  "You only did what came naturally to the demon inside, killing to survive.  William, dear, no one here blames the human for what the demon did."

"That doesn't make it right!  I killed you, mother! Your own son took your life."

"William, look at me!" She demanded.  "Something was left of your humanity when you were turned, so much so that the demon did something that others wouldn't have done or even considered doing.  It wanted to take away my pain, to ease an old woman's suffering.  There was no malice in it, William, none at all."

"But I had to stake you…"

"You staked a demon, William, not me.  Unlike you, when I was turned, no shred of humanity remained in my body.  You were special, William."  She pulled back from the embrace and cupped his chin in her hand.  "You've always been special, dear.  And you still are."

Spike shook his head.  "No!  I'm an awful thing, mother.  I killed for the joy and pleasure of it.  How do you explain my glee when I murdered those two slayers?" He asked, pointing to the two young women off to the side.  Even they had come forward to forgive him.  "I savored every moment of their deaths."

"William, you are quite important to this world.  I knew that the moment I bore you.  Accept the fact that you have been forgiven – yes, even by the slayers.  They knew what you were and they knew the risks that came with their title.  But never forget these faces, my son.  Never forget.  Otherwise, it will all be for naught.  Do you understand?"

"No," Spike responded, too overwhelmed by it all.  "I can't…"

"William, I am your mother and I have spoken," she stated sternly.  "Do not make me angry."  She drew him back into her arms and whispered into his ear, "I love you, William.  Nothing will ever change that."

Spike began sobbing again, trying desperately to repeat the words back to her.  Finally, he gathered himself enough to tell her how much he loved her as well.

Zareb allowed the reunion to continue for a few more moments, giving Spike the time he needed to try to come to terms with his past transgressions and the forgiveness he was receiving.  However, it would take more time than they had at the present.  More than likely, Spike would be grappling with this event for months, if not years to come.  Finally, Anne stepped away from her son and disappeared with the others into the ether.  Zareb walked over to his friend and placed a hand on the shaking man's shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze.  When Spike finally looked up through red swollen eyes, he spoke to him in a soothing voice.

"There is yet one more you must face, vampire, but her forgiveness you will not receive this day."

"Who?" Spike asked, wiping away the stray tears that stained his face.  "Where is she?"

"There," Zareb answered, pointing to a lone gravestone that sat at the mouth of a cave.

At a snail's pace Spike walked over to the grave and bent down to read the words.

            _Buffy Anne Summers_

His knees buckled and he fell to the ground for the second time in this dream.  He reached out and traced the letters.  "She's…again?"  He managed to finally get out.

"No.  She is not.  This is here because you feel that you caused her death.  It will not disappear until you understand that you could have done nothing to stop it."

"But I _am_ to blame," Spike howled.  "I couldn't keep my promise…"

"There are things in this world that cannot be undone, no matter what you do to try to stop them.  Some things just are."

Spike glared at his friend.  "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know more than you think, vampire.  Believe me when I say that everything occurred as it should have."

"She shouldn't have died!"  He roared, standing up and turning on his friend in one fluid motion, struggling against the anger that was rising to the surface.  "It was my fault and then what I did to her…"

"These things were all prophesized.  It was all meant to be.  You do not understand now, but you must, in order to fulfill your destiny."

"_My_ destiny?" He demanded with a scowl.  "You and mother and your _destiny_.  You've got the wrong guy.  Maybe you need to go visit Peaches' dreams for a while."

Zareb laughed heartily.  "Angel is not who he is believed to be.  The truth will come out soon and all will be revealed."

"What are you rambling on about?  What do you means Peaches isn't who everyone thinks?  Hey!  Don't walk away from me when I'm asking you questions!"

"I am done here, vampire.  Remember all that you have seen and heard, the future of this world depends upon it," he stated, walking away and fading into the air.

"Bloody hell!"  Spike growled as he ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes.  He then turned and looked back at Buffy's headstone, feeling his stomach tighten and the tears sting his eyes.  "I know you can't hear me, Luv, but I need to say it just the same…"


	8. Fairytales and Prophecies

**Author:**  PSUbrat  
**Rating:**  PG-13 Some language and violence  
**Disclaimer and spoiler warning:**  All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to, I'm just borrowing them for a while.  This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset.   
**Website:**    
**Update List:**   
**Summary:**  Spike wakes to news from Sunnydale and Giles thoughts on what he's become…  
**Timeframe:**  Immediately following "The Other Side of Paradise"

CHAPTER 7 – FAIRYTALES AND PROPHECIES

Giles quietly closed the guestroom door behind him before heading back to the lounge room.  It was important that he leave soon for the meeting.  It would be hard to explain his tardiness or even absence to Quentin who would badger him with question after question until he received a satisfactory explanation.  Even if he told the senior watcher the truth, chances were he'd be laughed out of the room.  He would have to tread lightly where the Council was concerned, especially with his past transgressions.  It wasn't like he could make demands – or could he?  He'd have to pick and choose his battles carefully and tonight would not be one of those times.  He needed to make sure that the newly found prophecies pertained to Dawn and Buffy first.  Wearily he leaned against the wall, glasses in hand, and sighed.  It had already been a long day and, if he was right, it was going to be an even longer night.

"You look exhausted," Doc said, walking towards Giles.  He paused, waiting for a response from the Watcher.  When none came, he placed his hand on Giles' shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.  "You've done what you can.  He'll survive."

Giles smiled slightly.  "Yes, I know.  Thank you very much.  I'd hate to think what would have happened if you had not been available on such short notice…"

"No need to worry about that, now is there?  I was home when you rang and I was able to help."  He paused, considered his words and then continued.  "What are you going to do now?  With him, I mean."

"I suppose he'll have to remain here until he's properly recovered…"

"I don't think that will take long," Doc responded with a frown.  "There's something odd about him."

"Odd?"  Giles asked, eyebrows arched, his interest piqued.  He thought he'd been the only one to sense that there was something a bit off about the new human lying in bed in the next room.

"I've seen a lot of things over my lifetime, a lot of oddities and what not, but I've only ever seen something like this happen in two types of beings."

Giles folded his arms across his chest.  "What did you see?"

"At first I thought my eyes were deceiving me, I am getting up in years after all, but then I saw it again, just a small amount, but it was still there."  He paused, rubbing his chin, deep in thought.  Slowly, he looked up at Giles.  "I had no sooner removed the chip from the brain when the surrounding tissue began healing.  Rupert, I've only ever seen this type of healing before from vampires and slayers, of which he is neither.  What is going on?  How did he get like this?"

"Yes, that does seem to be the question on everyone's mind, doesn't it," Giles replied, slowly making his way to the sofa.  He sat down and leaned back against the cushions.  His mid-section ached from where Spike had punched him hours before.  How much should he tell Doc?  Where should he start?  Well, it was too late now.  Doc was entrenched in this just as deeply as he was; there was no turning back.  "Apparently, Spike went in search of a soul and wound up human instead.  I know how that must sound…"

"He's more than human, Rupert.  It's most incredible."

"Quite," Giles stated.  Casually he looked down at his watch to look at the time.  Almost eight o'clock.  It dawned on him that he should be leaving for his meeting instead of sitting here, having this conversation.  "I should probably make myself presentable before heading out."

"Are you sure you can't postpone the briefing?"

"No.  You know as well as I do that it would just raise more questions than we have answers to, at least at the moment.  I'm afraid I must go and play the dutiful Council member."

Doc nodded in understanding.  "Just be careful, Rupert.  Quentin has a way of knowing things that he shouldn't."

"Quite right," Giles replied as he stood and made his way towards the bathroom to clean up.  "Thank you for the concern.  I shall keep my wits about me, as always, where Quentin and the elders are concerned."  While he washed his face and then tucked in his shirt and straightened his tie, his earlier thoughts about Spike returned.   "Gerald?"

"Yes, Rupert?"  Doc inquired, standing in the doorway.

  "I have a theory about our patient that I'd like to run by you…"

"Which is?"

Giles turned around and met Doc's gaze.  "Truthfully?"

Doc nodded for him to continue.

"I won't be able to test it until he fully recovers, but I think," Giles said, taking a deep breath.  "That he's something that we've only ever read about and never believed."

"I'm not sure I understand.  What do you mean what we've read?  Where?"  Doc asked with a frown, trying to think of what it was Giles was implying.

"The ancient texts and prophecies dealing with Slayers…"

"Wait!" Doc exclaimed.  "You don't mean that he could be…"

Giles nodded, face serious.  "I do."  Ignoring the questions that started to pour from Doc's lips, he left the bathroom and walked over to the table in the foyer, slowly picking up his keys, obviously lost in thought.  "Please keep an eye on him while I'm gone."

Doc took the cue to discontinue his interrogation.  "Don't worry about a thing, Rupert, I've got it under control.  Go to your meeting with Quentin."

"Thank you, Gerald.  I'll be back as soon as possible."

Once Giles reached the elevator, Doc closed the door and locked it behind him.  Craning his neck to look down the hallway, he thought about the patient behind the far door and raised his eyebrows in wonder.  This was definitely shaping up to be an interesting evening.

* * *

Spike felt, more than saw, Doc's presence in the somewhat darkened room.  When he did open his eyes, he noted that the man in question was sitting in a chair by the window reading a book, a small lamp illuminating his features and making him appear much older than his years.  His mind knew that Doc hadn't been the one to inflict the injuries on Dawn, but every part of his being wanted to strangle the life out of him none the less, make him pay for giving Buffy no choice but to sacrifice herself.  If Buffy had never died – if he had only fulfilled his promise to protect Dawn – then none of the pain the Summers girls had endured over the last year would have happened.  If he had just defeated the shape-shifter…If Doc hadn't been stupid enough to get caught in the first place, things would have been so different.  Buffy wouldn't have died, Willow wouldn't have had to resurrect her, sending the red head on a power trip and causing her and Glinda to break up; Dawn wouldn't have turned klepto and Buffy wouldn't have lowered herself to be with him.

"No use dwelling on it," Doc said, never looking up from his spot by the window.  "You can't change the past, unless you know a good vengeance demon, and even then, there's no guarantee that she'll get it right."

"How'd you know what I was thinking?  You some type of mind reader?"

Doc laughed heartily, marking his spot in his book and then slapping his hands on his knees in amusement.  "No, not at all.  I've just been listening to your rantings for the last two hours."

"Oh," Spike replied sheepishly, closing his eyes again and settling back against the feather pillows.  Just great.  He could just imagine what he had been babbling about.  Two hours was a long time.  "Probably know my entire life story then…"

"Your life story is fascinating, Mr. Spike, but I didn't hear it from you.  I've read Lydia's thesis as well as the Watcher journals.  I'm well aware of who you once were.  What I'd like to know is…who are you now?"

"Wish I could tell you, mate.  Not sure myself."

Doc sat back in the chair, crossed his legs and folded his arms over his chest, trying to look casual in the presence of William the Bloody.  "So, you're in love with Buffy."  It was more of a statement than a question.

Spike's eyes widened in surprise at Doc's comment.   "I, uh, don't know what you mean…"

Doc ignored Spike's protest and continued.  "From the sounds of things, you have been for a very long time."

Well, no use in denying it, he supposed.  He probably moaned her name in his delirium more than once.  Bugger it all.  "So what if I am," Spike sneered.  "My business, not yours."

"What is it with you vampires and her?"  Doc asked curiously.  "None of the previous Slayers dallied with their enemies."

"Not that the Council'll tell you anyways.  I'm sure the books have been cleaned up, that and most Slayers never lived as long as this one."

"Perhaps you're correct.  Quite understandable that they wouldn't want future generations to know about such things, don't you think?  So tell me, Mr. Spike, these changes you've gone through, were they for her?"

"Again, that's none of your business."

"I see.  Well then, was it worth it?  I'm just curious because now that you're human, I don't see you running off to be with the woman of your dreams."

Spike turned his head, glaring at Doc, but said nothing in response.  After a few moments, he looked away to stare at a spot on the ceiling, hoping the conversation was over.

"You really have it bad," Doc said with a grin.  "It's amazing what people, and demons alike, will do for the love of a good woman.  She is a good woman is she not?"

"The best," Spike replied.  He could feel his throat tighten and the tears start to sting the back of his eyes.  "There's no one else quite like her."

"Is that right?  For someone who's supposed to be so unique, she's not you know," Doc said with a laugh.

Spike glared at him again.  "What?"  He demanded.  "She's one of a kind.  No one else can touch her."

"She's not the only Slayer though, if it's Slayers that you and your kind want to get romantic with.  There's also that other one – that one in prison.  Wouldn't she be more your type?  From what I understand, she's quite the wild one."

"You know," Spike stated flatly, starting at the ceiling again and trying to control his temper, "You're really starting to piss me off."

Doc guffawed as his eyes twinkled merrily.  "You must be feeling better!"

It suddenly occurred to Spike that he did feel better.  He closed his eyes as his hands wandered to his sides and pressed on his ribs – no pain.  Even the pain in his head had subsided to a dull ache and the rest of his injuries from the fight with Giles seemed minor and almost non-existent.  He frowned.  What was happening to him?

Noticing the perplexed look on Spike's face, Doc spoke up.  "Your scratches and cuts are almost gone."

Spike's eyes snapped open as he checked over his arms and hands.  It was true.  His wounds were almost completely gone.  "How?"

"That does seem to be the question of the day, doesn't it?"

"I don't understand," Spike said with a sigh as he buried his face in his hands.  This was just too much for his brain to process at the moment.  Slowly he looked up at Doc, eyes pleading with the man to tell him the truth.  "I'm human, right?    

Doc sat back in his chair, a certain amount of sympathy showing on his face as he studied the confused man closely.  It had to be hard going from undead for over a century to a living, breathing being again – with a conscience.  How was one to cope with that?  "As far as I can tell, you are completely human."

"But I shouldn't be able to move like I do or heal like this."  Maybe it was the powers from that last demon he defeated during the trials or maybe…  "Am I some type of monster?"

"You are no more a vampire, or monster, than I am.  It is curious, though, how you are able to heal so quickly.  Rupert said he may have an idea of what you've become, so I'll let him fill you in on that."

 "Watcher's got a theory, does he?  'Slong as he doesn't tell his Council cronies 'bout me, he can fill me in whenever he's ready."  He was too tired to dig for answers from older man, besides; he didn't think Doc would exactly be forthcoming with the information.

"I'm sure Rupert will keep your secret as long as you need."

"As for you…" 

"Ah, Mr. Spike," Doc started, holding up his hand to silence the man on the bed.  "Your secret is safe with me as well."

"Bloody well better be," Spike growled.  "Last thing I need is for those wankers to be poking and prodding me."

Doc smiled.  "First of all, they would more than likely kill you and then poke and prod you.  They tend to shoot first and ask questions later, but I suppose you already knew that."

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No, it was meant to set you straight.  This will cheer you up, though.  Buffy called while you were sleeping…"

"Buffy called?"  His heart skipped several beats and his stomach tightened.  After his dream, to hear her name again, to know she was still alive – it was a relief.  Suddenly, though, reality came crashing down around him.  "You didn't tell her I was here, did you?"  He snapped, panic in his voice.

"Settle down.  I let the machine pick it up.  It's not my home after all.  She just called to apprise Rupert of the situation back in Sunnydale.  Seems the young witch is healing nicely, albeit slowly, but Mr. Harris is still in a coma.  Such a sad thing for someone so young.  I suspect he'll recover though if the preliminary translations of the prophecies are correct."

"What prophecies?"  Spike asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Nothing that concerns you, Spike," Giles stated from the doorway, throwing Doc a stern look at the same time.

"Rupert," Doc said with a grin.  "You've returned.  Excellent.  I believe your thoughts about our Mr. Spike may be correct.  His wounds and broken bones are almost completely healed."

"Amazing," Giles replied excitedly, running to Spike's side and checking the man's face and arms for confirmation.  "Most remarkable!" 

"I agree.  I'd like your permission to study him further."

"Yes," Giles nodded, the excitement still showing on his face.  There are many questions to be answered."

"Do you think this was supposed to happen?"  Doc asked as he began to pace the length of the room.

"I'm not sure.  I'll have to check the texts while you conduct the examination…"

"Wait a minute here!"  Spike bellowed, shaking his finger at the two men before him.  He had been watching their conversation as one would watch a tennis match, except his brain hurt too much to keep up with the vollies.  He wished he could think straight!  "There will be no studying of me!  Ever!  Is that clear?  I'm not some sideshow freak in the bloody circus.  Well, maybe I am," he said after a moment's pause.  "But that's besides the point!"

"I won't hurt you," Doc assured him with a gentle smile.  "I don't subscribe to my employer's methods of research.  Nothing like this has ever happened before.  We just want to…"

"Nothing like what?"  Spike demanded, glaring at Giles.  "Doc here says you've got a theory.  Let's hear it then, shall we?"

Giles put his hands in his trouser pockets and looked down at the floor, gathering his thoughts.  After a few moments of internal debate, he began.  "Nothing like this has ever happened before, Spike…"

"We've already established that, Watcher.  Get down to the nitty gritty already!"

"Right," Giles replied with a half smile.  He supposed if he were in Spike's position, he'd want immediate answers too.  "It's just a theory on my part mind you, but your reflexes and healing capabilities seem to suggest that I'm correct in hypothesizing…"

"I'm not too weak to get out of this bed and give you a sound thrashing, ya know!  Get on with it, Rupert!"

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration with one hand while he held his glasses in the other.  "If you would close your mouth for half a second, I'd be able to tell you what I think."

"Sorry, but I'm a little on edge here.  Please…continue."  He was now holding his breath.  From the look on the Watcher's face, he'd say it was something he wasn't going to like.

"Right.  Before I go on, Spike, I want you to know, this is only a theory.  Doc and I will both have to do more research."

"Yeah, yeah," Spike replied curtly.  "I get it.  'Don't shoot the messenger' but if you soon don't tell me what you're thinking, I'm gonna start shooting more than the messenger."

The look in Spike's eyes was making Doc nervous.  Quickly, he looked from Spike to his friend, hoping that Giles would soon tell the former vampire his theory; otherwise he was afraid things could start getting a little messy in here.  

"Spike, no matter how quickly you're healing, you're in no position to be threatening me.  Now, if you'll keep quiet…"

"As a mouse, Watcher."

"Right," Giles responded, eyeing Spike closely to see if he'd keep his word before he continued.  After several silent moments, he continued.  "As I was saying, I believe that with your healing capabilities and quick reflexes, you've become something that has never existed outside of old texts and lore.  I believe that you, Spike, are something akin to that of a male Slayer."


	9. Denial Thy Name Is Spike

_**Author:** PSUbrat  
__**Rating:** PG-13 Some language and violence  
**Disclaimer and spoiler warning:** All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to, I'm just borrowing them for a while. This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset. Some lines taken from "Restless" written by Joss Whedon.  
**Website:**   
**Update List:**   
**Summary:** Spike has a hard time dealing with Giles' theory...  
**Timeframe:** Immediately following "Fairytales and Prophecies"_

**- 8 -   
Denial Thy Name Is Spike**

Spike sat in bed, stunned and confused. "I'm sorry," he said, blinking rapidly as if it would help clear his mind. "Don't think I heard you right." There had to be some kind of mistake. He couldn't be a male Slayer. Not him. No. He remembered being in Romania the first time he had heard rumblings about such a thing. His initial reaction was to hunt down and kill this warrior, like he was looking to do with the Slayer, but when he had asked Darla and Angel about it, they had informed him that it was nothing more than fairytales and legends told to keep fledgling vampires and the rest of the demon populace in line. A male Slayer just didn't exist. Now he was hearing that it may not be a fairytale after all, and that he might be the fabled male Slayer. No. There was just no way. 

"It's just a theory, Spike," Giles assured him as he fiddled with his glasses. For as many times as he played with his glasses out of nervous habit, it was probably best that he hadn't given in to Buffy's suggestions of getting contacts. If he had, whatever would he do with his hands? Placing his glasses back on his nose and clasping his hands in front of him, he continued with his thoughts. "However, that being said, there's really no other explanation that I can find at the moment for what's happening to you, but that doesn't mean that I'm correct."

Spike began to shake his head vehemently, highly agitated. "No, you're wrong. I can't be something good like that, not after all the terrible things I've done. Slayers have to be pure, untouched by evil, right?" His eyes pleaded with them to confirm this, but neither did. He became enraged. "I've murdered people. Scores of people! I staked my own mother for Christ's sake! I don't deserve anything good like this!" And he didn't. Evil. The Big Bad. That's him. Was him, he corrected himself, but in the end, he had still killed – he had still been a murderer.

Giles and Doc exchanged quick, worried glances. Both had expected the former vampire to be at least somewhat happy with the news. This was not the reaction they had been prepared for in the least. Giles spoke first, sitting down on the edge of the bed and looking Spike in the eyes, as much as he would allow him. 

"This is an extraordinary thing that's happened to you, Spike, don't you see that? And as for the Slayer being something untouched by evil, I'm afraid that what little we do know about the origins of the Slayer say something completely different..."

Spike continued to shake his head. No. He wasn't accepting this. Never... He just couldn't, especially when the images of his victims flashed through his mind. "Tell that to the innocents I've killed over the last century! Tell the wives, husbands and kiddies and whatnot that the bastard that killed their families was given a get outta the shitpile card, cause some demon in Africa decided to play God!"

Giles bowed his head. He should have suspected that Spike would experience something similar to what Angel had gone through once his soul had been returned, but something didn't add up. Why was Spike only now going through the guilt when he'd had his soul for months? "Spike, please..."

Spike folded his arms across his chest and glared at Giles. "You're wrong, the pair of you... I'm not your 'male slayer'. You want to know what I think? I think you two should sod off and leave me to kip, seein' as how I've just had major surgery." He rolled on the bed, turning his back to the watchers. Male slayer! Just who were they trying to kid?

Giles didn't move from his spot on the bed. He was not going to be dismissed so easily. "Spike? Spike look at me." He demanded as he firmly gripped Spike's upper arm and squeezed. "We're not done here."

Spike didn't turn around. "Think we are, Watcher. Until there's concrete evidence to back you up, I don't want to hear it."

"Aren't you even the slightest bit intrigued by it?" Doc asked incredulously, taking several steps closer to the bed and trying to get Spike's attention. "You can't tell me that you aren't excited or pleased..."

"I've already told you!" Spike snapped. "I'm not a bleedin' male slayer. Get over it. Both of you."

Giles looked up at Doc, the severity of the situation reflecting on his face. "Gerald, would you please give me and Spike a few moments alone?"

Doc looked from his friend, to the bed, and then back again, concern glimmering in his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, quite. We'll be fine," Giles stated with a small smile and quick nod. He needed to get to the bottom of what was really bothering his houseguest. He wasn't concerned that Spike would do harm to himself, but he was worried about the man's mental health, which seemed to be rapidly deteriorating.

"I think I'll head on out for the evening then, Rupert. Please keep me apprised of the situation when you have a chance." He then turned and purposely placed himself in Spike's line of sight. "Do get some rest Mr. Spike. Everything will look better after a proper night's rest, you'll see."

Spike continued to lay motionless on the bed, pretending that he heard nothing of what was being said. Silently he begged for them to leave him be, to let him feel his pain and guilt alone. They couldn't help him. He had to carry this burden alone.

Sighing, Doc walked towards the door. "Goodnight, Rupert. If you need anything..."

"Right. I'll ring you. Thank you again for everything." "My pleasure." He bowed slightly and then left the room, closing the door behind him. 

* * *

Once the older man left the room, Giles turned his attentions back to Spike. He took notice that the once mighty vampire now looked like nothing more than a scared child, huddling into himself under the blankets. He also took note that Spike's skin looked sallow except for his cheeks, which burned bright red - more than likely from the events of earlier in the day than from his anger. Male Slayer or not, mystical healing powers or not, what Spike had been through this day was enough to wear down even the strongest person. Slowly, he reached out, his hand millimeters from Spike's arm again, when he hesitated and pulled back. As much as Spike had changed, it would still take some time getting used to it all. Time to forge ahead and get to the bottom of things.

"What's really bothering you, Spike?" He asked, the kindness in his voice surprising even himself.

Spike sighed and squeezed his eyes closed, but all he saw was Buffy's gravestone and the faces of his victims. "Don't bloody well want to talk about it, Rupert. Now sod off and leave me be." 

"I see," Giles replied, standing up. He stopped briefly to look at Spike while he put his hands in his trouser pockets. "Whatever is bothering you won't depart until you come to terms with it." 

"You a psychiatrist now?" Spike asked, the sarcasm dripping from his words. 

A thin smile crossed Giles' lips as he bit down a retort. He had to remember that Spike was going through something that even he couldn't fathom. "No, I just thought I would lend an ear. If you need to talk..." 

Frowning, Spike rolled over on his back, put his arms behind his head - carefully avoiding what was left of the incision - and quirked an eyebrow questioningly. "Why're you being nice to me now? A few hours ago you wanted me dead." 

"Yes, about that," Giles started. Spike's patented cockiness was back, whether he realized it or not. That's when he remembered how much he disliked the vampire. However, Spike was no longer a vampire, he was human and as a human he deserved his help. "I overreacted. I shouldn't have..." 

"You did what anyone would have done in your position," Spike stated, interrupting Giles' apology. "Would have done it myself if I had half the stones." 

"Right. Setting that aside, I think you're in some pain, Spike and..." 

Spike snorted and then smirked. "You have no idea what I'm feeling." Hell, he didn't know what he was feeling. Guilt. Pain. So many other things at once, overwhelming his senses until all he wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry. 

"I want to help," Giles stated with the same compassion as earlier. Why couldn't the git just understand that he wanted to be left alone right now? This whole possible 'goodness and light' thing had him tied in knots, figuratively of course because real knots, that wouldn't be good. He frowned. Where was his mind going? Closing his eyes, he mentally tried to pull himself together. This day had just been too overpowering for words. "You can't help me. No one can." 

Giles studied Spike's face, again trying to understand the depth of the man's pain. He really _did_ want to help him. He felt obligated to do so, especially if Spike was indeed the prophesied male slayer. "I think you're wrong," he stated quietly and evenly. "I think you want my help, or you wouldn't have come here like you did." 

"Already told you why I came. Thought you'd kill me." That bit was close to the truth, at least in some way. A part of him _had_ wanted Rupert to hurt him, make him pay for the things he'd done, but at the same time he had come for answers as well. He decided that the answers he was getting were definitely not worth the trip. He should have just stayed in that cave and waited for the beast to eat him. 

"Then you must be terribly disappointed that I didn't." Giles paused, mulling things over in his mind. When he received no response, he continued. "Spike, I could have killed you, but you stopped me, which tells me one thing, you want to continue to be a part of this world." 

Spike averted his eyes. It was true, something had snapped in him while Giles was beating him. He _had_ wanted to live. Now that had changed though, after his dream. It had been a dream, right? 

"What is it, Spike? What are you holding back?" 

"Nothing," Spike replied tersely, lowering his eyes. 

"I can't help you unless you let me! Please, let me help." He paused. It sounded like he was begging to be let into Spike's mind. That's not how he wanted to come across. Hopefully, it hadn't pushed Spike further away.

Sighing, he looked at the Watcher with hard, cold eyes. "I already said...you can't help me. I'm beyond help. Get it now?" 

"I think I do," Giles replied softly. "You're feeling a century of guilt and shame for the things the monster inside of you did. You're not that monster anymore. You do realize that don't you?" 

Spike shrugged his shoulders in response, the motion causing him some discomfort. 

"Answer me this, Spike. Why are you feeling the guilt now? Why now, when you've had the soul for however long it's been?" 

"Dunno," Spike sighed. "I just know that I have to pay for what I've done." 

"What you've done to Buffy? Is that what triggered your guilt?" 

"Yes...no." He closed his eyes, breathing out hard through his nose. How could he explain this in terms that Giles would understand? "I just have to pay for it all, especially for the thing I neglected to do where Buffy is concerned and for the thing I...almost did." 

Giles sat down heavily in the chair by the window, leaning his elbow on the small table there and propping his head up with his hand. He was weary and frustrated. More weary than he had ever been in his life, or so it seemed. He sensed that there was something that Spike was withholding from him, something important, but he knew that pushing and prodding wasn't going to get them anywhere more this evening. "Spike, if you don't wish to discuss what's troubling you, would you consider writing it down?" 

"Writing it down? For what? So that you can hold it against me?" No way was he writing anything down. Words on paper were what got him into trouble that night Drusilla turned him. He hadn't really written a lick of poetry since, at least none that anyone would ever find, mind you. Usually, when he'd felt the need to wax poetic, he'd grabbed a loose piece of paper, wrote what came to him, and then had taken his lighter to the parchment - making sure the evidence was nothing but ash. 

"I mean something like a journal. If you don't feel as if you can discuss your thoughts with anyone, at least put them down on paper - get them out in the open so that you can start healing your mind." 

Spike snorted. "A journal? You think I'm some poofter then, writing down my 'feelings'? I'm not Angel you know." 

"No that you're not, but you are brooding quite a bit like him." Perhaps a different tact would bring Spike around to discussing things. 

"Hey!" Spike shouted indignantly. "I'm not anything like Peaches. Nothing. And you'll do well to remember that." He paused for a moment. Come to think of it, he was behaving an awful lot like his grand sire. Sod it all. What was done was done. Hadn't that always been his philosophy in life and unlife? There was nothing he could do about the past but... He sighed as his head spun. The thoughts buzzing around in his mind and the guilt that was weighing heavily on his conscience seemed to be more physically damaging than the chip had been. He had to do something; otherwise he was positive his head would implode. Maybe the Watcher's idea of a journal wasn't such a bad idea after all. "Think it might help?" He asked, softening somewhat while doubting that anything short of death would heal his shattered spirit. 

I really do, if not I wouldn't have suggested it," Giles stated with a smile. Moving quickly, he got up out of the chair and left the room. 

Spike frowned. "Where in bloody hell...?" 

Giles returned to the room, a small notebook in one hand and a silver pen in the other. "Here," he said, handing the book and pen to a very surprised Spike. "This should be sufficient enough to get you started. If you find that this helps, we'll look into getting you a proper journal." 

"You weren't kidding about this, were you?" Spike asked, shaking his head. "You expect me to start this now?" 

"No, not immediately. You really should get some rest. You've had an incredibly trying day, to say the least." 

Spike began to page through the empty book as Giles commented, observing that it was just a normal, run of the mill notebook - nothing special - wire bound, the cover the color of pale green. The pen, however, was just absolutely splendid and must have cost a fortune. It was silver and sleek and felt like it belonged in his hand. He was so mesmerized by the writing implement that had Giles not cleared his throat, he felt he would have been lost in its trance forever. Looking up quickly and forcing a smile, he replied. "Yeah, guess you could say that. Wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I left Africa earlier today..." 

"Right. I've been meaning to ask you - how did you find the 'Iron Cauldron'? I'm almost positive that Bronwyn didn't tell you where to find me." 

"She didn't," Spike responded as he noticed the inscription on the pen. His heart stopped. It was from her...and Dawn. _Happy Father's Day - B & D_. He closed his eyes and turned his head, trying to shake the image of her face and answer Giles' question. Pulling himself together, yet again, he opened his eyes and looked straight at the Watcher. "I was led there." 

Giles noticed Spike's reaction to the inscription and silently chided himself for grabbing that particular pen. Of all the pens on his desk, he had to grab that one. Bloody stupid of you, he thought to himself. Ignoring Spike's obvious discomfort, he pushed on. "You were led there? By whom?" 

"Zareb." 

"Zareb was your guide in Africa, correct?" 

"Yeah. Thought it was kinda strange to be seeing him in London, so I followed him and then he disappeared. Figured he went into the shop so that's where I went." 

"Very interesting," Giles stated. He needed to know more, but not tonight. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to pick this up again. "Spike, I want you to get some rest. If you feel up to writing tonight, then write - if not, sleep. Tomorrow's going to be another long day. You and I have much to discuss." 

"Suppose we do, Watcher," Spike replied with a nod. He watched as Giles headed out the door. "Giles?" He started, before the door was closed. 

Giles turned around to acknowledge his guest. "Yes?" 

"Thank you," Spike said, his tone serious. He wanted the Watcher to know that he was grateful for his help. Without him, he would be lost in this world. 

Giles smiled to cover his surprise. This definitely wasn't the same Spike that he knew in Sunnydale. "You're quite welcome. Now get some rest. I'll see you in the morning." 

"Right," Spike replied as he settled back against the pillows again. Once he heard the door click shut behind Giles, he opened the notebook and stared at the white lined pages. Just where did one start with something like this? The beginning? The present? His feelings? He was overwhelming himself again. He was pretty sure that's not what Giles had in mind when he handed him the book. Cursing silently to himself, he picked up the pen and began to write. 

* * *

_My dearest Buffy, _

_Giles suggested that I start a journal, to put down my thoughts so that I could start to heal my mind, but I just don't see the point. Healing. Do I deserve that? I guess that's a loaded question. Anyway, I didn't know where to start so I thought maybe I could use this to write to you since you are the only one that ever really understood me, or at least pretended to. I'm so confused, Buffy. You have no idea what I've been going through, but I suppose that's being selfish of me when I know that you've been facing much bigger things back home. Home. It's not my home anymore but I can't stop thinking of it that way. I wish so much that I could see you again, to make sure that you are okay and to hold you in my arms...to never fail you again. But I know that it can't be, that we can never be. I've done so much to you over the last few years that I finally understand what you mean when you tell me that you could never be my girl, that you could never love me. I'm a monster, Buffy, pure and simple. Even if the monster inside of me is gone, I still retain the memories of what he did, what he tried to do, and it eats me alive. _

_I'm human again, Buffy. Seriously, I am. It's an incredible feeling. My heart beats, my lungs fill with air and I can walk out in the sun. I still think that one day I'm going to wake up and the sun will incinerate me - it would be deserved if it did though. After that night, I felt so much shame, so much guilt that I just couldn't go on like I had been. I wasn't really a vampire anymore but I wasn't a man. I didn't know what I was or where I belonged. I was this close to taking a walk in the morning light. But Clem showed up at my crypt after I had gotten back. Had he not been there, had he not listened to me and seen me struggle with the monster and the soul, I think I would have killed myself. So I went to Africa to face a demon that Clem had heard about. I survived the trials and asked for my soul. Problem was, I already had one. Not sure how that happened. Maybe I'll never know. I suppose it doesn't really matter right now. What does matter is that he made me a human and possibly something a little more than that. I hope for my sake that Giles is wrong about what I've become. I just don't think I can deal with being a male Slayer. It's too much pressure; especially after what I've done...what the monster has done to all those people. I've killed scores of people, Buffy, and I would have killed you too if it hadn't been for something inside of me that kept me from doing it. I thought I belonged in the dark and that you belonged there with me, but you don't and I don't - at least not anymore. You changed me, Buffy. You made me realize that just because horrible things happen to you, that it doesn't mean you have to be horrible because of it. You made me see the light and I love you all the more for it. _

_Giles would like me to explain why the guilt is only starting to flow now, despite the fact that I've had this bloody soul for months, but I can't explain it. I don't have the words. I suppose it has something to do with the vision (or dream) that I had after the operation. Yes, the chip is now gone. All obvious vestiges of my being a monster have been erased from this body. All but the memories, and they are slowly killing me. I wish I knew how to stop this horrible feeling, to make it go away, but I suppose it is my punishment. His punishment. Damn. I feel like I'm being split in two. There's Spike and there's William but I feel like I'm neither of them. Spike was the monster, William was a tosser and I'm not sure what or who I am. Will I ever find my way? Will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me for what I've done to you? I hope you don't. I don't deserve it, you know. I tried to tell that to my victims in the dream(?) but they insisted I be forgiven. Can you imagine? Why would those whom I've killed want to forgive me for it? My mother was there as well. She looked so peaceful and beautiful. She forgave me for killing her, but I suppose that's a story for another time. _

_I guess that's all for now. I do love you, Buffy. More than I ever thought I could possibly ever love anyone. That's why this has been so hard for me. I asked the creature in the cave to make me what you deserved, I guess that means you deserved a human who may or may not be this bloody male Slayer thing. I've already decided that I'm going to stay away from Sunnydale - forever - because that's what you deserve. _

_-S._

* * *

Spike slowly closed the journal after re-reading the entry. What he had written didn't seem to make much sense, more like a madman's ramblings than anything. Perhaps that's what he was or what he was becoming. He certainly felt that way. And he did feel as if he was being split in two. He wasn't Spike anymore but he wasn't William either, Spike's memories had seen to that. There was no way he would ever be one or the other again. If he was serious about continuing in this life, then he needed to figure out who he was, what his purpose was, otherwise he would slowly go insane - more insane than he felt right now. 

Rolling over on his side and closing his eyes, he pulled his knees up into his chest as he clasped the journal to his body and began to weep. He just wanted the pain to stop and the guilt to ease, and he wanted Giles to get off the 'male slayer' idea fast. He wasn't the male Slayer. He had been a monster; monsters don't just become Slayers no matter if that thing in the cave deemed it so. 

Not even realizing it, his body began to relax as exhaustion took over. His mind began to drift as he fell asleep. Suddenly, he was back in the desert from his earlier dream and Tara was there. She smiled sweetly at him and said, "You think you know...what's to come...what you are. You haven't even begun." 

He rolled over in his sleep and whimpered in response. 


	10. A Thousand Lifetimes

_**Author:** PSUbrat  
**Rating:** PG-13 Some language and violence  
**Disclaimer and spoiler warning:** All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to, I'm just borrowing them for a while. This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset.   
**Website:**   
**Update List:**   
**Summary:** Giles and Spike discuss the future while Spike tries to cope with what it means being a human...  
**Timeframe:** Immediately following "Denial Thy Name Is Spike"_

  
- 9 -  
A Thousand Lifetimes

Spike rolled over on his back and winced in pain as something sharp poked into his shoulder blade. He partially opened one eye as he tried to clear away the cobwebs of sleep that spun around his tired brain. Not recognizing his surroundings at first, both eyes snapped opened as he struggled to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The confusion subsided as his memories of the previous day came flooding back to him. He was now somewhere safe, so he could relax, except that something hard was poking his shoulder and causing him to be uncomfortable. Paying close attention to what it felt like, he finally realized that it was the spiral binding of the notebook. Bloody hell! He had fallen asleep with the damn journal.

Sighing, he made no move to retrieve the book, just left it there, digging into his skin - ignoring it and everything else around him. All he wanted to do was stay in this room, under the covers and ignore the world. Was that too much to ask? Apparently it was since the sounds of the world outside flooded his ears, making it tougher to lose himself in the sleep that he wanted to wrap around him. Suddenly he sat up, growled, tossed the notebook across the room and then flung himself back down on the bed, pulling the covers over him until nothing but his messy mop of curls stuck out. That's when something tickled his nose and set his senses on fire. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he did. His stomach rumbled in response. It was the rich aroma of coffee and something else...something that just made his mouth water in anticipation. Was that eggs?

He sat up again, bolt upright this time, and sniffed the air. Had food always smelled this good? Stumbling out of bed, his legs wobbling a little, but he steadied himself long enough to throw on some pants. For a second he felt a little lightheaded as well. That's when he realized he was famished. Slowly he followed his nose, down the hallway, through the lounge room and into the kitchen where Giles was scrambling eggs and heating up baked beans. He stood in the doorway taking in the sights and smells.

"Good morning, Spike," Giles stated as he busily put bread in the toaster and placed a plate full of eggs on the table. "I trust you slept well?"

Spike looked at him in surprise. It was going to take some time getting used to the Watcher treating him nicely. He kept expecting there to be some sort of catch to it. Running his fingers through his hair, he nervously looked at Giles, and then to the food on the table, and then back at Giles. His stomach growled audibly.

"What are you waiting for?" Giles asked with a frown. "A bloody invitation or what? You don't need those anymore. Sit down Spike. God knows you could use a little meat on those bones."

It took all he had to not rush to the table and start gobbling down the food that was placed there. In fact, he hesitated, still lingering at the door, unsure of how to proceed. If he had still been a vampire, it would have been easy - grab the blood packet, throw it in a microwave and heat until 98.7 degrees. This was real food. Sustenance. He had eaten human food before and enjoyed it, despite that it did nothing for him at the time, but now it was different, and he actually had to eat it to survive. The thought frightened him. Okay, yeah, he had been eating food for the last three weeks - sort of - but that was only because Zareb had made him eat breads and fruits, but he hadn't eaten anything else.

Giles watched as the emotions and uncertainty crossed Spike's face. "It's not poisoned," he remarked casually. "I'm not the best cook but I can hold my own. Go on now, sit down." He walked over and pulled out a chair for Spike to sit in. Like Spike, he'd have to get used to the fact that the man that stood in the doorway of the kitchen wasn't the vampire that he once knew. In fact, right now the former vampire looked a bit more like a scared, lost child instead of the possible male slayer that he might be.

Spike shuffled slowly over to the chair and sat down. The food smelled so good it was overpowering his other senses, so he just sat there and stared. Why did he feel so helpless? Why was he so scared? He was human now and as a human he was required to eat. It wasn't that difficult – all he had to do was pick up the fork and scoop up the eggs, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Are you alright?" Giles asked with a frown, concern coating his voice. Had the operation to remove the chip caused brain damage of some sort?

"Uhm, yeah, suppose I am." He managed a small smile as he continued to stare at the eggs.

"I'm not going to feed you, if that's what you're waiting for."

Spike snorted in response. Just the mental image of Giles trying to feed him eggs and beans was amusing. "I'm not waiting for anything. It's just that I…I'm scared, Giles." There, he'd said it. "I'm not sure I know how to take care of myself now. For the last three weeks I've had Zareb telling me what to do. If it weren't for the two of you, I'd probably have died by now." He looked into Giles eyes pleadingly. "How am I going to take care of myself?"

"Spike, just relax," Giles replied as he sat down next to Spike and poured him a glass of orange juice. "It's eggs, not the future of mankind. It'll take some time, no doubt, for you to get used to being human, but it's really no different than how you survived as a vampire."

"Suppose you're right, Watcher. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around all of this...stuff." He paused for a moment, tilted his head and regarded the glass of juice with interest. Taking a deep breath, he picked it up and took a sip. The liquid was tangy and sweet as it rolled over his taste buds and down his throat. Not half bad, and it hadn't been that hard to do. Next he picked up the fork, shoveled some eggs onto it and then took a bite. He didn't think anything as mundane as scrambled eggs would taste so good. Greedily he began devouring the food on his plate, barely breathing as he did so.

"Spike, slow down!" Giles warned, grabbing Spike's wrist before he could eat another forkful of eggs. "You're going to make yourself sick. Slow down. Chew your food carefully." He felt like he was speaking to a child and in a way, he supposed he was. Despite the fact that Spike was almost 130 years old, he was only human for three weeks. It would take time to adjust from one life style to the other. "There's plenty more." That was true, there was definitely more and if Spike wanted additional servings, he'd make it for him just to make sure the man ate.

Spike stopped in mid chew and looked at Giles uncertainly. He put his fork down and finished chewing what he had in his mouth and then took a swig of juice to wash it down. "Sorry, mate. It's just that it tastes..."

"I know, but you have to be careful. The last thing I need right now is for you to start choking or making yourself sick. We don't exactly know how your body is going to react to human food again, Spike. Just take it easy."

Nodding, Spike picked up his fork and started eating again, slowly, savoring every morsel that passed over his tongue. Heaven. His mind began to wander, thinking about what else he might eat that day. Steaks and hamburgers and french fries. The possibilities were endless! If food tasted this good now that he was human, he wondered what else might possibly be better. Perhaps even sex…

"Spike?" Giles prodded, a look of concern crossing his face. Where had the man's thoughts just drifted?

"Huh?" He asked, blushing slightly while he slowly chewed his food.

"I was just asking if you'd had the chance to think about your future. What you might do now that you're human."

Spike put the utensil down and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "I hadn't really given it much thought. Just that I'm not going back to Sunnydale. Ever."

"I see," Giles replied as he stirred his coffee, deep in thought. "For someone who's lived the span of several lifetimes, you'd think you might have some idea of what you'd like to do with yourself now."

"Not like I've lived a thousand lifetimes or anything," Spike responded. "Besides, becoming human was never an option. Blood, death, mayhem – that's what was always on the job market for me. Didn't need to think about much else."

Giles nodded. "That's quite true." He paused, and then continued. "What did you want to be before you were turned?"

Spike laughed defensively. "You don't wanna know. I was a ponce. And I'm not now, so just get that smirk off your face. Only ponce we know is Mr. Tall Dark and Brooding."

"Come now, Spike. It couldn't have been all that bad. Why don't you tell me about it?"

"No." There was no way he was sharing his past life with Giles. It would just be held against him later.

Giles sighed as he realized that Spike wasn't going to budge. No need to keep pushing him. "Alright then. I suppose I could always use another hand at the shop."

"Yeah? I dunno, Giles. That means working with people. Not sure I'm up to that yet. Don't do well in crowds, in case you haven't noticed."

"You'll do fine. Besides, it's a good way to slowly integrate yourself back into the world, don't you think?"

"Suppose I could do that. It'd be better than just hanging out here with nothing to do. You don't even have a telly, man!"

"Well, I do," Giles stated matter of factly. "I just choose to keep it hidden from the other Watchers." He grinned at Spike and Spike couldn't help but grin back. "However, you'll not find 'Passions' here."

"I was afraid you were gonna say that," Spike responded with a sigh. "May as well just go into the shop with you then. You gonna pay me to work?"

Giles paused, cup in mid air, and looked hard at his houseguest. "I see some things never change no matter what crisis one goes through." He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Spike. I will be paying you for your hours but if you plan to be staying with me long, you'll need to pull your fair share."

"My fair share? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. There are chores to be done around the flat, meals to be made and a vehicle that needs to be maintained, as well as bills to be paid. If you're going to be my flatmate, I expect that you'll be sharing with the upkeep."

Spike sat in his seat, his mouth gaping. "So that's it then, is it? Trying to make me a productive citizen of society and all that rot?"

"Yes, something like that. Now that you're human, Spike, you're going to have to deal with the consequences, which means working and paying bills."

Spike snorted his reply. He did just fine nicking things when he was a vamp, he figured that he'd just keep doing that as a human. Then again, he could end up in prison now and not be able to talk his way – or kill his way – out. The Watcher had a valid point and his shoulders slumped at the realization.

Giles clapped Spike on the back as he got up to clear the table. "Welcome to the real world, Spike. Now grab that tea towel and help me with the dishes."

* * *

The trip to the shop was made in a comfortable silence since Giles and Spike had already discussed, over the cleanup of the breakfast dishes, what duties Spike would be expected to perform while working at the Iron Cauldron. Instead of taking advantage of the lack of conversation and taking a nap, Spike took the chance to watch the view from the passenger seat while Giles drove them into London. There really wasn't much to see other than houses and cars and then more buildings and more cars. Things had changed quite a bit from the last time he had been through the area and things had definitely changed from the time he had been turned. It made him homesick for Sunnydale because there he knew things would still be familiar.

The traffic hadn't been as heavy as yesterday afternoon, but Giles' driving had been enough to further fray Spike's already worn nerves. By the time they arrived and parked as near to the shop as they could, he was more than happy to jump out of the car and walk the few blocks back. That's when he decided that from now on, he'd take the Tube into the city instead. The snarled roads were just too heavily traveled for his liking.

As they reached the door to the shop, Spike noted that the sign had been turned to 'open'. Oz must already be inside. Things were about to get interesting, not as much as the day before, but definitely not dull.

"Spike, please assist Oz with the inventory while I go make a few phone calls,"

Spike nodded his reply and walked over to where the werewolf was busily shelving books from a box that had arrived the previous day – an hour or so before Spike had shown up and disrupted their lives. He felt sorta bad about that in a way, causing more work not only for Giles, but for Oz as well.

"You missed the gig last night," Oz stated as he opened another large box of books so that Spike could work on one of his own.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that, mate. Was a bit busy with the Watcher."

"That's cool," Oz replied casually. "Didn't think you'd be able to make it anyway. Maybe next time."

"Yeah, maybe," Spike said with smile as he took a few books out of the box and proceeded to line them up on a shelf that Oz had pointed to. "How'd the band do?" He asked, suddenly feeling interested in the werewolf's life.

"We rocked, as usual," Oz replied with a shrug. "Our next gig's on Saturday. You should come."

Spike nodded and smiled. "Might have to do that seein' as how I'll be around for a while now." This was nice. Not the work itself, but the camaraderie they were sharing. He could get used to this. Maybe being a loner in a new world wasn't the best idea after all.

"So Giles let you live," Oz pointed out with a wry grin. "Which is always good."

"Yeah," Spike replied. "Bit surprised about that actually. Not that he didn't try though. Beat me up right and proper."

Oz's eyes narrowed while he looked Spike over from head to toe. "Huh, you look fine to me."

"What?" Spike asked absently, still unloading the box. He wasn't really paying attention to Oz and hadn't seen the look on the young man's face – not that he really expected there to be any type of expression on Oz's face, there never seemed to be any other time.

"Still the same old liar, I see," Oz commented, returning to his task.

"What?" Spike demanded, dropping the books back into the box with a thud. The comment had surprised him. Where was this coming from? 

Oz leaned on the shelf with one hand while he regarded Spike with dark eyes. "Look, I don't know what's going on between you and Giles, but if you think you can just come in here and start making up stories about him…"

Spike frowned, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a step back. "Just what are you prattling on about?"

"The fact that you look perfectly normal for someone who's had the crap beat out of them."

"Oh." Spike winced, looking down at his arms and hands and realizing that there wasn't a mark on them. Probably wasn't a mark on his face by now either. He had forgotten that he had promised to let Giles tell Oz what had transpired the previous evening. Damn. "Funny story, that…"

"It seems," Giles stated, interrupting Spike and stepping into the conversation while dunking his teabag into the hot water, "that Spike here is a bit more than meets the eye."

Spike sighed audibly as he relaxed. The bloke had good timing. He honestly didn't know what he would have told the werewolf.

"Really?" Oz asked, eyes still locked on Spike. "How's that?"

"Well I'm not sure of anything, yet, but I believe Spike is the equivalent of a Slayer."

Oz raised his eyebrows in response.

"Yeah, whatever," Spike stated, rolling his eyes. "I don't believe it for a minute, but Rupert here seems to be convinced. Guess that's why he's a Watcher and I'm just a bookstore employee."

"Quite. Of course, Oz, I don't need to remind you that this conversation stays between us. The last thing that Spike, or I, need right now is for the Council to be banging down my door and whisking him away to be 'examined'."

"Understood," Oz replied, nodding his head as well. The thought of anyone being taken by the Council for questioning or examination made him uneasy. Some of the people, well other wolves, that he had hung with when he had first gotten to town had been taken by the Council – and had never returned.

"Good," Giles responded, knowing that Oz would be true to his word. "We'll talk more about this later, after the two of you have finished stocking the shelves. For the time being, I'll be in my office. I'm expecting a visitor so please bring him back when he arrives."

Oz nodded.

"Sure thing, Watcher," Spike replied, turning back to his box of books. That had gone rather well if he did say so himself. A little smoother than he had expected though. After shelving a few more books, he paused and turned towards Oz. "Thanks," he said sincerely. "I appreciate you keeping this quiet."

"Not a problem," Oz responded. "There's more boxes in the back. I'll go get them. Just keep doing what you're doing while I'm gone."

* * *

Five minutes passed, and then ten, and the young werewolf still hadn't returned from the back. "Boxes my ass," Spike growled under his breath. "He's back there with Giles, gettin' the low down on me. Bloody well figures. Couldn't ask me himself, could he?" Just then the bell rang over the door, announcing that a customer had arrived. He sighed and cursed silently to himself while looking up at the ceiling in a 'why me, God' sort of way. He could just tell that the damned bell would set him off sooner or later – that and having to deal with customers day in and day out. What had he gotten himself into?

He poked his head around the corner to see who had entered. It was a man, in his mid to late twenties, dark hair and dark eyes and dressed impeccably. He watched as the customer wandered over to the counter, looking somewhat bored. Before he could hide back around the shelving, the man spotted him.

"You there, perhaps you could help me."

"Uh," Spike started, not sure what he could possibly do to help him. Damn. If Oz had just returned when he said he would or if he had just been a little faster or ignored the bell all together, he wouldn't have to worry about this. Oh well, too late now. He put on his best smile and walked over to the man. "I can try to help you. Is there something in particular that you're looking for?"

"You're new here."

"Yeah, just started today as a matter of fact." He didn't like the tone the man was taking with him so he took a step back and glared, his defenses kicking in.

"Yes, I thought maybe you had," the man sniffed. "I don't recognize you."

Brilliant. Just what he needed – a recurring customer that acted like they owned the place.

"I'm here to see my cousin. Would you be so kind as to let him know I've arrived."

"Your cousin?" Spike asked, quirking an eyebrow. This guy had to be here for Giles since he was just too stuffy to be related to Oz. "Let me guess. Tall British guy, glasses, sort of bookish?"

The man frowned at him in response. "Is that any way to regard your employer?"

Spike snorted. Time for a little fun. He may not be evil anymore but he still had his snark by damn. "Hey Giles!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs. "There's a ponce out here who says he's your cousin."

After cringing in response to Spike's shouting, the man glowered at him. Spike just smiled in return, suddenly making the man very uneasy. There was something about him…

"Ah, Garrick!" Giles stated as he exited his office, Oz in tow. 

"Rupert, good to see you again. Hello Daniel."

"Heya Gar. How's it goin'?" Oz asked as he came up next to Spike. Garrick smiled in response.

Spike watched the exchange with feigned interest. As he turned to make his way back to his box of books, Giles grabbed his arm.

"I see you've met William then," Giles said, putting an arm around Spike's shoulders to keep him from going anywhere.

"Yes, but not formally. Fortunately. I'd say his blatant disregard for your authority makes me not want to meet him at all."

What a git! Spike narrowed his eyes and took a step towards Garrick. He hadn't noticed that the man had taken a step back, concern flashing in his eyes, until Giles put a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him from ripping Garrick to shreds. He softened a bit and let the anger recede. "First, sod off, mate! Second, you don't even know me…"

"And I'd rather not," Garrick replied, his cool façade returning as he cut off Spike's retort. He then directed his next statement towards Giles, as if Spike no longer existed. "If this is the kind of help you're employing these days, cousin, I suggest you start looking elsewhere."

Giles smiled. This was not going well. He should have known that his cousin and Spike would not get along. Spike usually rubbed people the wrong way on first meeting. "Why don't you follow me back to the office, Garrick, and we'll discuss what news you have about that 'project'."

"Excellent idea, Rupert." He paused and then turned to Oz. "Good to see you again, Daniel. Do take care."

Giles led Garrick back to the small office that he occupied when not busy ringing up customers or helping Oz with the inventory. "Please, sit down."

"I really believe you need to fire that insubordinate, vile…"

"I'll not be firing William, in fact I have something I wish to run by you, but not until after you tell me what your latest investigations have uncovered." He paused, looking down at his cousin. "Tell me, what is the Council up to now?"  



	11. Identities Revealed

Author: PSUbrat  
Rating: PG-13 Some language and violence  
Disclaimer and spoiler warning: All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to, I'm just borrowing them for a while. This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset.   
Website:   
Update List:   
Summary: Spike settles in at the Iron Cauldron while Garrick reveals several complications dealing with the Council and the new prophecies…  
Timeframe: Immediately following "A Thousand Lifetimes"

  
- 10 -  
Identities Revealed

Giles shut the door to his office and sat down hard in his chair. The office was larger than the one he had occupied back at the Magic Box in Sunnydale but it somehow looked and felt smaller since he had papers and books spread out over every available surface. The walls were a dark shade of off white – meaning they had probably been white at one time, but were now darkening with age and grime. He supposed he'd have to do something about that, touch up the color or pick something completely different, but that would have to wait until the latest crisis had passed. There was always a crisis of one sort or another, wasn't there? Yes, he supposed there was and always would be – the downside of being part of the good guys and saving the world. He turned on the desk lamp since the single window located on the sidewall was small and dirty and set high up, supplying very little natural light to the room. The dim light cast shadows across the walls and floor, in no way helping the disposition of the room. All in all, it was a depressing area at the moment and he longed to be back in California. Just a small touch of homesickness setting in, along with being somewhat fed up with Council politics.

"Are you sure?" he asked Garrick, a hint of weariness to his voice. The man was sitting across from him with a pensive look on his face. If the news was true, if his cousin was correct, then there was no question as to him staying in England – indefinitely. The thought unsettled him.

"I'm certain. I've checked and double-checked my sources. There is definitely a rogue faction of the Council operating out there and their target is the Slayer as well as the potential slayers we've already identified. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if they're trying to track down those whose identities haven't yet been ascertained. I've been unable to determine whether or not Quentin is aware of it though."

"I don't suppose you will. Damn it. And the prophecies?"

"We haven't made much headway on those. We can't seem to find anyone who can translate the texts properly. Plus we've found another passage. Here's a copy for you," Garrick stated, reaching into his jacket pocket and then handing Giles an envelope with his name printed neatly on the outside. "Please don't look at me that way, Rupert. You know as well as I do that it's an ancient language that very few of us have any experience deciphering."

Giles opened the envelope and retrieved the paper within. Briefly, he perused the writing, realizing with some anger that there was no way he could translate it without a lot of books he didn't possess. He sighed, tossed his glasses on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He had been afraid of this, but had continued to hope for the best. "There's no one then?"

Garrick shook his head in response. "Just Geoffrey Ashcroft, as I've said before, and his translations are spotty at best. We've been through everyone in the Council plus those in the Academy and I've been working day and night, when I can, to learn the language myself. Are you positive that we cannot contact Wesley Wyndham-Pryce?"

"No. That's impossible. Wesley is working undercover at the moment. If we were to contact him now, we'd jeopardize all that he's been able to accomplish so far. No, we'll just have to keep looking." 

* * *

"So who's this Garrick bloke anyway?" Spike asked Oz as they finished with their task of shelving the newly arrived books. Something about the man, who was currently holed up in Giles' office, rubbed him the wrong way. Then again, most people did. "Looks like a total pratt, if you ask me."

Oz snorted and then looked at Spike with a half grin. "First, no one asked you. Second, he's Giles' cousin, but you already knew that 'cause Giles told you."

"You don't say," Spike stated sarcastically as he rolled his eyes. "Just meant, what's his story?" He knew from ages of experience that everyone, no matter how innocent or young they appeared, had a story of one sort or another. He didn't know why, but he really wanted the low down on Garrick.

Oz shrugged. "Dunno. They're related on his father's side, I think. Oh, and he's training to be a Watcher."

Spike laughed. "Should have guessed that. Fits the part," he said, following Oz to the front of the store. He should have known that most of the people Giles would associate with here in England would be of the Council variety. Didn't the man have any friends that weren't mystical, magical or stupid Council gits? Probably not. At least there was Oz. Since the young man didn't know much more about Garrick than he had guessed himself on first meeting, he decided to change the subject. "So what's next, Wolf Boy?"

"Wolf boy?" Oz asked, quirking an eyebrow at Spike.

"Well, yeah. It's what you are, right?"

"True. But I pretty much go by Oz these days."

"That's boring," Spike replied with a smirk. "'Sides gotta keep things a little interesting 'round here. Place certainly could use it." The shop needed a little lightening up, and he didn't mean with the color or lighting. At least back in Sunnydale the demon girl kept things in perspective and gave everyone a good chuckle – here it was quiet, too quiet. 

"Don't doubt that," Oz stated dryly as they reached the front of the store and sat down at a research table that was similar to the one back in Sunnydale. He propped his feet up on the table, leaned back and opened the latest comic book he had purchased from a shop down the street.

Spike sat quietly at the table, looking around the shop and taking in his surroundings. This hadn't exactly been what he had in mind when he decided to contact Giles. Who would have thought that he, William the Bloody, would be human and an occult shop employee? It all just blew his mind. A part of him wanted to run back to Sunnydale and share this fortunate turn of events with Buffy. But the other part of him, his brain, refused to entertain such thoughts further. Suddenly, he was aware of just how deafening the silence was in the shop. "Do you miss home?" He blurted out before his brain could catch up with his mouth. He didn't exactly know why he'd said it, probably to make conversation because he couldn't stand the silence or the thoughts of Buffy that were floating through his mind. Immediately he regretted his question once he saw the look on Oz's face. "Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"Nah, it's cool," Oz replied with a smile, quickly recovering from the shock of the question. "I miss it. From time to time. But I know I can't go back, ya know?"

Spike nodded sadly. He understood, more than then the younger man could ever guess.

"Is-Is Willow good?"

Spike tilted his head and frowned. "I'd think the Watcher would keep you up to date on her progress."

Oz shook his head. "Never asked. Giles never offered. Probably better off that way."

"Probably, yeah." He sat quietly for a few seconds until he saw the expectant look on Oz's face and realized the wolf had been waiting for him to offer up something on his ex. "She was doin' okay for the most part when I left, but she and Glinda were sorta on the outs."

"Glinda? I thought she was dating Tara?" Oz asked confused.

Spike snorted. "Meant Tara, mate. Just call her Glinda, cause she's the good witch and all that."

Oz nodded. "So Willow's not happy?"

"Don't know about now, but before I left they had problems. Willow was usin' too much magic, getting too strong. She brought Buffy back from the dead, did you know that?"

Shaking his head and eyes going wide, he was barely able to respond. "Had no idea she'd gotten that far with her magic…"

"Yeah. Ripped Buffy right outta heaven, or something like it. Buffy was at peace and then she was back here. She had some tough times she did, trying to get back to herself. Course I didn't help things…" He looked away, trying to hide the tears that were starting to sting the back of his eyes. "Enough trips down memory lane for one day, huh?" Besides, he couldn't take anymore himself. It just reminded him of what he'd never have again.

"Sure," Oz stated, looking down at his comic book to give Spike some time to pull himself together. After what he thought was an appropriate amount of time, he turned back to the former vampire and slowly looked him over, still unable to believe that Giles had beaten the daylights out of him just the day before. He'd had Giles explain a little more about the male Slayer thing while they had been alone, but he didn't think Spike looked anything other than lost right now. He almost felt bad for him, almost, until he sniffed the air. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Maybe he had, but had just tuned it out. He had gotten pretty good at doing that since he had first started changing. Should he say something? If he didn't, who else would? "Uh, Spike?"

"Yeah?" 

"Not to be rude, but, you have other clothes? Cause, have to say, you don't smell the greatest."

"I showered!" Spike exclaimed defensively.

"Dude, showering or not doesn't matter. Your clothes stink."

"They do not!" He growled, grabbing a handful of his shirt and smelling it. "Smells just fine to me."

Oz touched his nose with his finger. "Super sniffer. I can smell you from here. Smells like it hasn't been washed in years."

"Think a bloke would know when his stuff smells, don't you?"

"Maybe. Just thought you'd wanna know."

Spike frowned at him, trying to determine whether the wolf was making fun of him or not. After a few moments he decided that Oz was just being helpful. "Thanks. Didn't bring a whole lot with me." Unfortunately, he didn't own a whole lot of anything anymore, just this shirt and the one he had on yesterday. It's all he had brought with him to Africa and it's all that had followed him here. "And for your information, it's been washed. Just not recently."

"You might want to fix that."

"Yeah, guess I should." He thought for a moment and then nodded. "Think Rupert'll advance me some dosh in order to get some new stuff?" And maybe do the shopping for him since the thought of crowds made him shudder.

"He might," Oz answered absently with a shrug. If he was going to have to work with Spike, the least the man could do was smell decent. Hell, he'd pay for a couple of new shirts himself if Giles wouldn't.

Spike stood up, took a deep breath and headed towards Giles' office.

"Where are you going?"

"To get me some new clothes."

* * *

"Bloody hell," Giles growled as he threw the paper down on his desk and began pacing his office. They had come so far and it was of the utmost importance that these prophecies be translated. They dealt with the Last Judgment, of that much he was sure, but he was almost certain that they had something to do with Buffy's future and the futures of the rest of those in the group as well. At the present moment though, he felt like banging his head against the wall in frustration.

"Rupert, we'll find someone," Garrick soothed, trying to ease his cousin's mind.

"Where?" Giles retorted, irritation seeping into his tone. "Shall we just pull someone out of thin air?"

"No, I just mean to say…"

They were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Giles walked over and opened the door to find Spike standing on the other side, arms folded and waiting impatiently to be let in. "William, I'm in the middle of something here…"

"This won't take long," Spike stated as he pushed his way into the office, taking a seat at Giles' desk and ignoring Garrick's dour expression. "I was just wondering if you could advance me a bit of my check so that I can go…" He paused as his eye caught sight of the paper laying on the desk's surface. "Well, what do we have here?"

"Nothing that you should concern yourself with," Giles snapped, trying to grab the paper from Spike's hands. However, he had been too slow and Spike too fast. He watched helplessly as the former vampire jumped out of the chair and held the paper well out of his reach.

Spike grinned in triumph. "A little poetry perhaps? Although I don't recall the ancient Sumartans writing much prose in their time that didn't have to do with death and mayhem."

"That is not ancient Sumerian," Garrick snarled, "you uneducated prat!"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Not ancient Sumerian, you git. Sumartan. There's a huge difference. About two thousand years in fact. Don't they teach you anything at the Watcher school of yours?"

"You…you know this language?" Giles asked in amazement, too stunned to get more than that thought out of his mouth for the moment.

"I'm no an expert," he replied with a nod. "But yeah, I can read it. Don't ask me to write it though. Conjugation's a real bitch." The room fell silent and suddenly two sets of eyes were boring into him, making him feel naked. "What?"

Giles traded a quick glance with Garrick before speaking. "How in the world did you learn Sumartan, Spike?"

"You don't live for almost 130 years and not learn…"

Giles interrupted, before Spike could continue, by clearing his throat and glaring at him while subtly motioning his head towards his cousin.

"Right," Spike stated, understanding flooding him. "I, uh…" He stopped in mid-sentence, shifting on his feet under the weight of Garrick's stare.

Garrick glared at his cousin's employee. "Spike? I thought you said his name was William?"

"Yes, his name is William. Not quite sure where you got Spike," Giles replied nervously.

"You called him Spike, I heard you," Garrick insisted, eyes narrowing while he continued to stare at the employee.

"I'm sure you heard wrong," Giles snapped, trying his best to cover up the blunder. His cousin was an intelligent man, but hopefully, this time, Garrick would let things slide.

"No, I believe I heard you right." Garrick's eyes narrowed even further as he stood and walked closer to William. Slowly he circled him, taking in every detail. Thoughts began to swirl as something tugged at the edges of his mind. 'Spike'. 'Almost 130 years'.

Spike was suddenly aware of the ticking of the old wooden clock hanging on the far wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The air in the office became stifling and he was sure he was beginning to sweat. He looked to Giles for silent support, but the Watcher had gone pale. Brilliant. Time to pull the bacon out of the fire. "Doesn't really matter how I learned the language, does it?"

"No," Giles replied quickly, scrambling to change the subject. "The point is that you know it. We shall get a copy of the prophecies and bring them here for you to look over."

Spike nodded. "Sure, Rupert. I'll do what I can."

"Wait just a moment," Garrick demanded with a growl. Spinning on his heel, he confronted his cousin. "You cannot just show a non-Council member such sensitive information, Cousin, and you know it!" His tone softened a bit when he realized whom he was speaking to. "I'm sorry. I know that you're used to working in Sunnydale in unconventional ways, but you're not on the Hellmouth anymore. You're in England now and despite the fact that we don't believe in most of the Council's procedures and processes, I will not be a party to allowing you to bring William the Bloody into this project!"

Spike and Giles exchanged quick looks of surprise.

"Don't be so amazed that I figured it out, Cousin. I don't care if he is a 'good' vampire or not. I've read your reports. You don't trust him. Never have. So why should I?"

"Now look here, mate," Spike began, somewhat angered by the tone that the prat was taking with Giles, but he stopped abruptly when Garrick pulled out a cross and shoved it towards him.

"Back you demon spawn!" Garrick shouted, thrusting the cross forward again, bringing it closer to Spike's skin.

Spike stood his ground, trying his best not to break out into a fit of laughter. "Really think you need to put that away before you hurt yourself," he said calmly, with just a hint of mirth to the tone.

Garrick growled in frustration and pressed the cross against Spike's forehead, waiting for the burning to commence. When nothing happened, he grabbed Spike by the arm and dragged him towards the window.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Giles exclaimed as he watched Garrick open the window.

"I'm going to remind you exactly what he is. You've been in Sunnydale far too long." He seized Spike's hand and held it up in the direct sunlight, waiting for the skin to burst into flame. After a few moments, when nothing happened, he dropped Spike's hand, and backed away slowly in a daze. "I'm sorry," he said abruptly. "I thought for sure that you were him."

Spike held his hand back up into the sunlight, staring at it in wonder. Nope, he was never going to get used to this. "It's okay," he responded absently. "Honest mistake." He lowered his hand and looked it over, still in awe. "Go ahead, Rupert," he sighed. "If you trust him, well…I don't, but you do."

Giles started at Spike, eyes wide with concern and surprise. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"Certain about what?" Garrick demanded.

"Yeah, go ahead. No need to have family members at odds over me." He gave Garrick a hard glance as he sat down in Giles' chair and propped his feet up on the desk, ready to take in the show that was about to begin. "Even if he is a total git."

Giles blinked. "Right. Garrick, I think you'd best sit down," he strongly suggested, pulling out the chair for his cousin and then taking a seat himself on the edge of his desk. He knew that he could trust Garrick, implicitly, but he was caught unprepared for this discussion. Patiently, he waited until Garrick was seated to continue. "You weren't exactly wrong about William."

"What do you mean I wasn't exactly wrong?" Garrick asked. Confusion as well as a sense of dread began spreading in the pit of his stomach.

"There was a time, not too long ago actually, that William here was a vampire."

Garrick frowned. "What do you mean was? Vampires do not just stop being what they are."

"That's mostly correct," Giles stated in agreement. "But William, Spike as he is known, was one of the worst ever on record – behind only Angelus and Darla..."

"Now wait a minute here!" Spike protested. "I was worse!"

Giles rolled his eyes in response. "Somehow I truly doubt that, Spike."

Spike clucked his tongue in disagreement and then put his hands behind his head, smiling mischievously at Garrick. "You've read the diaries, you tell me if I was a bloody menace or not. Worse than Angelus, I was." This was quite amusing. The poor git seemed almost speechless.

Finally Garrick found his ability to speak. "Excuse me," Garrick said, getting up from the chair and stepping towards Giles. "Rupert, clearly you've been working far too hard," he chuckled, "because you're losing your mind."

"I assure you I'm not."

"Surely you don't expect me to believe that he is William the Bloody?"

"In the flesh, mate," Spike said with a grin.

"Impossible!" Garrick spat. "William the Bloody is a vampire and clearly he, you, are not…"

"Was a vampire, past tense. Saw a demon about a soul and suddenly I'm human."

"I think that about sums things up," Giles sighed, stepping back into the conversation. "Obviously, Garrick, you cannot breathe a word of this to anyone, at least not at the moment."

"You're serious?" Garrick asked, flabbergasted.

"Completely," Giles stated, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This day was just getting worse as it went along. They still had the prophecies to consider as well as the latest news about the rogue faction of the Council. "Now," he started, still ignoring his cousin's look of incredulity, "can we please get down to business? There's much to discuss. Spike, I need you to see if you can translate that passage while Garrick and I try to get the rest of the prophecies here."

"Rupert," Garrick interrupted, still trying to shake himself out of the daze. "The prophecies cannot leave the Academy. They'll be missed and everyone will know exactly to whom to go if they can't be found. I cannot let you do this. There's too much at stake."

"Yes," Giles sighed. "I suppose you're right." He leaned against the wall wearily. "We must think of something."

"Don't look at me," Spike exclaimed as both men stared at him. "I'm just a bleeding occult shop employee. Not like I can just go waltzing into your fancy Academy and start doin' research."

Giles stood up straight and looked from Spike to Garrick. A look of understanding passed between them. "Actually, you may just have something there."


	12. Questions Unanswered

Author: PSUbrat  
Rating: PG-13 Some language and violence  
Disclaimer and spoiler warning: All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to, I'm just borrowing them for a while. This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset.   
Update List:   
Summary: Spike is presented with an offer he can't really refuse while Giles reveals why he must remain in England…  
Timeframe: Immediately following "Identities Revealed"

  
- 11 –  
Questions Unanswered

Spike looked from one man to the other, an overwhelming sense of fright began creeping under his skin, making the hairs on his body prickle and rise. Surely they weren't thinking what he thought they were thinking. "Have you two fallen off your rocker?" He asked, quickly sitting up straight and pushing the chair away from the desk – as if putting enough distance between them and himself would somehow make their pointed looks and suggestive tone go away. "I'm not going to be some bloody wanker doing research in your hallowed halls. Go find some other idiot to be your patsy."

"It's becoming quite apparent that it's best I stay in England, wouldn't you agree, Garrick?" Giles asked as he walked over to his cousin, arms folded and sounding serious.

"Yes, I believe it would be for the best," Garrick agreed quickly.

"Right. And would you then say that a certain active Slayer in Sunnydale would need a new Watcher if I chose to stay here and become more involved in the Council?"

"Well, yes. That would be proper Council protocol…"

"Now wait just a minute!" Spike howled. "You know bloody well how she feels about you Council gits. There's no way in hell she would accept another Watcher. Not even if you hand picked one yourself."

"That's where I think you're wrong, Spike. I believe Buffy would accept another Watcher, one of my choosing."

"What, and you think Garrick here would be the perfect solution? She'd eat him up and spit him right back out. No offense, mate."

Garrick glared at Spike in response. "I'll have you know that I'd make an excellent Watcher!"

"Yeah, whatever, Percy," Spike replied with a roll of his eyes.

Giles, never taking his eyes off his cousin, continued. "Garrick is not who I have in mind." A look of understanding passed between the two men.

Quickly averting his eyes while clearing his throat, Garrick sat down in the chair again. God help them all, but he thought Rupert was on to something. Rupert was needed here in England, to help track down the rogue faction and to keep an eye on other members of the Council. This meant that someone would have to take over the position in Sunnydale. You just couldn't have a Slayer running around by herself in the world. It just wasn't…proper. Plus, there was the whole translating of prophecies bit that needed to be done, and it seemed as though only William the Bloody could properly do that for them. Was the world ending and he hadn't received the memo?

Spike's eyes narrowed. "Not Garrick? Who then?" Suddenly his stomach clenched. "No. No way. I'm not going back there. Ever. We've been through this and why."

"Spike," Giles began, putting a hand on the man's shoulder before he could get up and run out of the room. "I know this seems sudden…"

"Sudden? Sudden is being alive one minute and then being a vamp the next. This is downright warp speed, Rupert, and I'm not bloody having it!" 

Giles sighed. This certainly wasn't one of his best plans, but he really needed to stay here and look after things. If he put in a request for permanent transfer now without someone in mind to replace him, then the Council would pick someone of their own and Buffy would be subjected to Council rules again. Until she quit. Again. And right now her quitting just wasn't an option. "Look, I'm against this as much as you, and frankly I don't trust you completely, at least not yet, but that being said, I trust you to take care of her. You've never once wavered in your concern for her." He held up a hand when he saw the look on Spike's face. "That's not who you are now, Spike. You know as well as I do that you would never do that to her again. You're not the monster anymore."

"But…" He couldn't complete the sentence or the thought. His legs were weak and his body began shaking. Closing his eyes, he whispered, "There's no way she'd accept me even if I agreed to this."

"That's quite possibly true," Giles agreed, nodding his head. "But chances are greater that she would accept you before she'd accept someone else."

"Can…Can I at least think about this?" He needed time. Time to assess whether or not he was capable of pulling this off. For the last three weeks of his new life he had resigned himself to the fact that he would never see Sunnydale, or Buffy, again and now suddenly this was being thrust upon him. It was all just too much.

Giles walked over to the other side of the room, turning his back to both Garrick and Spike, and placed his hand on the wall in front of him, resting his weight against it and hanging his head wearily. "Spike, I don't think we have the time for you to get over your inhibitions and fears. Too much is at stake. I need you to translate those prophecies. Not tomorrow, not now. I bloody well needed them done yesterday." He didn't know if he had the man's attention or not, or if he was even getting through to him, but he knew the next sentence would. True, it would be extremely low of him to bring her into this, but damn it, he needed Spike to understand. Slowly he turned around and faced the room. "Listen to me, Spike. If you choose to not do this, you could be placing many lives in a precarious position. I'm talking about Dawn, and most specifically, Buffy. If you turn your back now, because you're too much of a stupid arse to swallow your pride, then…then quite possibly you could cause their deaths."

"What?" Spike asked incredulously. "Are you joking? You mean to tell me that if I refuse to help, Buffy could die?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, but yes, inadvertently your refusal could put them in jeopardy."

"No pressure or anything," Garrick added with a smirk.

Spike glared at Giles' cousin, causing the man to shrink back against his chair. "All's I'm asking for is a few hours to think things through. I just need to get used to the idea." Days and weeks wouldn't be enough time to get used to the arrangement, but he at least deserved a few hours, didn't he?

"Fine," Giles replied, nodding his head. "You have until morning. In the meantime Garrick and I will come up with an plan of how to integrate you into the Academy."

"Right," Spike stated flatly, all the emotion draining from him in that one word. He needed to get out of here, get out in the sunlight and just…think. Quickly he stood up and made his way to the door. As he put his hand on the doorknob, Giles cleared his throat and Spike froze.

"There was something you wanted to discuss with me?" Giles asked gently.

Without turning around, Spike answered impassively, "It can wait." He opened the door and promptly walked to the register to retrieve his bag, not even noticing Oz who was assisting a customer with purchasing the correct ingredients for a protection spell of sorts.

"Hey," Oz greeted. "Was Giles cool with the loan?"

"What?" Spike asked distractedly. "Uh, didn't get to that part. I, uh, I'm going out for a while. Can't stay here." He grabbed his bag and ignored the puzzled look on the werewolf's face. Fresh air. That's what he needed…air, space and time to think. The shop was suddenly stifling.

"Wait, Spike!" Oz yelled as Spike disappeared out the door into the alley.

Giles came out of the office and placed a hand on Oz's shoulder. "Let him go," he stated softly. "He needs to do this on his own."

"Do what?" Oz quizzed the Watcher.

"Think," Giles replied. He gave Oz a fatherly clap on the shoulder. "Go on then, help Mrs. Stackhouse with her purchase. Spike will be all right."

Oz glanced at the door briefly before turning back to the register. He didn't know why, but he was concerned about Spike being out in the world in his current state of mind.

* * *

Once Spike was out on the main thoroughfare, he began to regret his hasty decision to run out of the shop. "Always allowing your emotions to make your decisions. Brilliant. Now what?" Good question. The street was full of hustle and bustle, so much so that for a moment, he almost turned around and went back to the sanctity of the Iron Cauldron. No, he couldn't go back. Not just yet. He had some thinking to do before he went back to either the shop or Giles' flat. Maybe he could find the answer he sought to the question if he went down to the park and listened to the calming sound of the water flowing by. Wait. Was he thinking about doing something that ponce, William, would have done? Holy hell. What was happening to him? Not Spike. Not William. Who the bloody hell was he? Second question of the day, probably not to be answered any time soon either. Damn.

Slowly he began walking south, towards the river. At least he was pretty sure he was heading towards the Thames. Guess all he had to do was keep that monstrosity they called the 'London Eye' in sight, and he'd be just fine. Too many thoughts were running through his mind, making it hard to think coherently. Who was he kidding? Whenever Buffy was involved, he could never think straight. He sighed and continued walking, shoving his hands deeper into his jeans pockets. The biggest question still remained: How could he possibly become Buffy's watcher after everything that had happened between them? There was no way she would accept him. None. In fact, if he were her, he'd murder himself on sight and then go give Giles a sound thrashing.

Reaching the park, he found an empty bench under the trees and sat down. There was a gentle breeze swaying the branches above him, causing him to be in both shadow and light with each new puff of air. Going to see the beast in the cave was supposed to have ended this not knowing what he was…or who he was thing. Now, he was just as confused as before, maybe even more so, and with Giles' question looming over him like a black cloud, all he wanted to do was hide, but there was no where to go. Sighing, he leaned back into the seat, closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sound of the water, however, the noise of traffic and pedestrians managed to drown out the rhythm of the Thames. It was just more racket to jumble with the thoughts in his head, making him more frustrated than he was before he had left the shop.

"Want to talk about it, vampire?" A familiar voice asked beside him.

Spike's eyes snapped open as he whipped his head to the side. "Zareb? Bloody hell man! If you're gonna keep popping up from nowhere, you could at least try to not scare the crap out of me!" 

Zareb smiled in response, but said nothing.

"What are you doing in London? How'd you find me?"

"Are you sure we're in London?" Zareb asked with a grin.

"Well, yeah," Spike replied at first, but then trailed off when he saw they were no longer in London, hell, they were no longer in England. "Where the hell are we?" He asked incredulously.

"You do not recognize it?"

"Do now, but…was just sitting on a bench by the Thames…"

"Come, walk with me, vampire, we have much to discuss."

"Walk? Walk where? We're in the middle of the bleeding desert, mate, if ya haven't noticed." This day was quickly going from bad to worse. Now he was hallucinating. He looked around, shaking his head as Zareb began walking away from him. "Wait," he yelled, jogging to catch up with his friend. "Why is it you keep showing up whenever I'm having some sort of crisis?"

Zareb laughed. "Luck?"

Spike gave him a sideways glance. "I'm serious. Who are you?"

"I am Zareb, your friend who helped you after you received your gift."

"Yeah. Some gift," Spike snorted. "Besides that though, I mean, who are you really?"

"I am the first of many who have been and are yet to come."

Spike stopped walking beside his friend, frowning and slowly shaking his head again he asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Patience, vampire. There is much yet that you need to learn, and you will, in time."

"Here we go with that 'time' rot again. You have no idea how frustrating you are!" He should have stayed in bed this morning, but instead he got up, went to the shop with Giles and then was thrown into personal turmoil by being asked to become a Watcher. Not just any Watcher, mind you, Buffy's watcher. Sod it all.

"You are struggling with an important decision, yes? Whether to become her Watcher or to continue to search for your purpose."

Spike scowled. This bloke knew way too much about him for only knowing him such a short time. "Reading my mind, are you?"

"I know many things, some foretold."

Spike was becoming more frustrated by the minute. If Zareb didn't start explaining things soon, he wasn't going to be responsible for his actions. "Okay then, if you know so much, why don't you just tell me who I am and save me the trouble of banging my head against the wall?"

Zareb put his hands behind his back and continued walking, his head down, and deep in thought. "I told you that first day who you were. Do you not believe me?"

"Maybe I need to hear it again," Spike growled. "Cause I'm not exactly sure who I am and what I'm supposed to do."

"You are the prophesized one," Zareb stated, stopping to look at his friend. "The one who will save the world and help bring the end of darkness."

"That still doesn't tell me a bleeding thing!"

"It does, but you would rather hide from it. When you are ready, you will ask the right questions."

As Spike tried to stifle his anger, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. A cave. Now where had that come from?

Zareb laid a hand on Spike's arm. "You must ask yourself first if you are ready to enter."

Confused, Spike tilted his head slightly and regarded his friend. "What's that supposed to mean? It's not another one of those trial things, is it?"

Zareb shook his head slowly. "Watch. Listen. Learn."

Spike rolled his eyes, but then turned his attention back to the mouth of the cave, and waited. For what, he wasn't sure. Then suddenly, she appeared. Her. Buffy. She was dressed in a long white tunic, looking as beautiful as ever. His heart ached because he wanted to reach out to her, to hold her in his arms again, to beg her to forgive him. Instead he watched, transfixed upon her form, as she hesitantly looked around, taking in her surroundings.

"H-How? Why?" He gasped, his eyes never leaving her for a moment.

"A glimpse of the future," Zareb replied. "She cannot see or hear you because she is not really here. This is yet to come."

"Just who are you?" Spike snarked. "Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?"

Zareb just frowned in response, not understanding the reference.

Unexpectedly, they were transported inside the cave. Spike watched in awe as Buffy began fighting a creature he couldn't identify. As always, she was poetry in motion. He would never tire of watching her work. An overwhelming sense of pride welled up within him as he continued to observe her, but then the momentum of the fight changed and Buffy was struggling for her life. Panic and dread began to grip him. He tried to reach her, but Zareb held him back.

"Let go!" He howled. If he had still been a vamp, this is the time he would have flashed his yellow eyes and maybe some of his bumps in order to make his point.

"It is not real, vampire, but it will be, in time. Without a Watcher, it could happen sooner."

Spike spun towards his friend. "This is emotional blackmail! You're as bad as those Council wankers!"

"No, it is reality. Fact. This is an important decision, but one you must make alone."

"Then why show me this?" Spike asked, still shaking with outrage, his hands balled into fists at his side, ready to strike at any moment.

"To show you what might be, if you choose the wrong path."

Spike grabbed Zareb by his robe collars and shook him. "What do you mean, if I choose the wrong path?"

Zareb said nothing. He understood his friend was upset, but there was nothing that could be said or done to change what was to come.

"Damn it! Answer me!" Spike bellowed, shaking Zareb some more. The man continued to remain silent, so he let him go. "You are driving me insane! Do you know that?"

"Yes," Zareb responded with a smile.

"Bloody hell! I'm not any closer to making this decision than I was before I left the shop, but now I want to rip you limb from limb."

"Much progress has been made then," Zareb chuckled. After a few moments of silence, he began again, this time more seriously. "Vampire, do not be hasty with your decision. Your question has already been answered. You need to look inside for the strength that you seek." He paused again, placing his hands on each shoulder and looking Spike in the eyes. "Ask yourself this, can you live with yourself if something happens and you could have prevented it? It is a question that all potential Watchers must come to grasp before they take the next step. It is why we become those that watch over the Slayer."

"What do you mean, 'we'," Spike asked, eyebrows raised.

Zareb smiled brightly. "Have you not figured it out yet?"

Spike slowly shook his head in response.

Zareb laughed heartily and clapped Spike on the back. "Think about it."

With that, Zareb and the desert disappeared.

* * *

Spike's eyes snapped open again, or for the first time – he wasn't sure which – and he was still on the bench at the park. However, the sun was much lower in the sky now. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and tried to reorient himself to his surroundings. Had he fallen asleep and dreamed the whole thing? It felt too real to have been just a dream. What was going on with him? Prophetic dreams weren't something normal humans had, right? Maybe it was the brain operation. Of course! That must be it. That Doc guy must have caused some damage when he took out the chip. Wait, that didn't explain how he thought he had seen Zareb yesterday in the alley. This was all too much, too much noise and too many demands on him. He was getting a headache. Being a creature of the night had been a much simpler existence than this being a human thing. At least as a demon he only really had to worry about the Slayer, and sunlight. Both of which were easily avoided.

The Slayer. Everything always came back to her, in every way. He lost Dru because of her, he got that damned chip because of her, and he went and got all souled up and human because of her. There was really nothing in his life anymore that was done without her in mind somehow. Damn woman was going to be the death of him yet! He took a deep breath and exhaled audibly. Yeah, he knew what his decision was – what it had to be. Shaking his head, he grabbed his bag and stood up. It was time to go tell Giles exactly what he thought of his question.


End file.
